When I was of the tender age of three, I got stuck up a chimney. Yes, my intrepid search for proof of Father Christmas’s existence sent me and my long suffering Carebear clambering up the sooty, pigeon-infested, vertical tunnel (not a euphemism). Only to find that a) He was not there (admittedly it was June, my scheduling was off) and b) Getting down was not as easy as getting up.
Ever since that day, I have been inescapably accident prone, earning me such titles as The Spiller, Calamity Darrall and my new favourite Darrall the Destroyer. Throughout my blog I have detailed numerous occasions in which I have fulfilled these nicknames to the hilt, eking out every syllable with embarrassing situations that leave my insides turgid with cringe and my outsides red as a radish.
However this week has taken the biscuit. The last chocolate hobnob to be precise. (Note to reader, never take the last chocolate hobnob in my presence, it will result in carnage).
I am, once again, up in my beloved Lake District, home of the wonderful Theatre by the Lake where I am lucky enough to be performing in their summer season. The second show of this year is the Hitchcock thriller Dial M for Murder, transported onto stage by five valiant actors and an incredibly complex lighting and sound design.
During the play (I won’t spoil it for you) my character, Sheila, (not of Sheila’s wheels) is involved in a fight, resulting in eventual strangulation, though not necessarily death… ambiguous suspense… Part of the fight takes place on a desk. A delicate, antique desk. You can guess where this is heading.
Ever heard of the wrestling move Rock Bottom? It is an epic finishing move (not to be tried at home) made famous by Dwayne Johnson aka The Rock, where he lifts his opponent into the air and slams them down on their back. Very dramatic.
Well, I experienced the Rock Bottom. Only this time my opponent was a desk. Not a muscle bound wrestler.
Whilst being strangled on the aforementioned structure, its legs decided to buckle from underneath slamming me to the ground with only its wooden top as my cushion. My strangler, cat-like and agile, performed a nifty drop roll off the top, narrowly missing the opportunity to join me in a heap on the floor. Selfish, if you ask me.
Needless to say my rear end now looks like an atlas. It already looked globular but now it has the deep blues of the ocean and the greens of the hills to decorate it.
The desk has since been reinforced with a steel frame. That’s right, steel. Darrall the Destroyer strikes again.
If only it had ended there. Two days later I cracked the back of my head open by laughing at a joke. Yes, LAUGHING at a JOKE.
The sofa I was sat upon was strategically placed in front of a ledge, thus if one were to fling one’s head back when snorting with mirth, the velocity and position of the fling and the ledge combined could only result in collision. Some say jokes are side splitting, I now know them as head splitting.
The bang must have resulted in the loss of a few precious brain cells as only a few days later with friends, I filled up a pint glass with what I assumed was ginger ale, only upon gulping it down to discover it was in fact ginger cordial, concentrate, which needed to be diluted ten-fold before drinking. It was like putting a thumb over a hose-pipe.
So all in all it has been a successful week! I would say you’ve got to laugh but I now know the dangers of that. So instead, just smile. Smile far, far away from desks, ledges and cordial. And smile because it makes you and others feel good too. CHEEEEEEEEEESE!
p.s If you haven’t already, check out my #itaffectsme Mental Health Campaign and get involved!
Twitter and Instagram: @itaffectsme
Twitter and Instagram: @itaffectsme