Yesterday evening as I drove home after a meeting, the sky was bright with sunset. I noticed a dark "something" out of the corner of my eye. When I turned to glance at it, it went away; when I looked back at the road, it was there again. At first I thought I'd stared at the sunset and was seeing a fatigue image. But it didn't fade like a fatigue image. It was a dark, drifting, leggy thing, like a dead spider in a bucket of water. When it swam across the centre of my vision I recognised it as a "floater" inside my eye.
I've had them before, usually just little dark specks that gradually dwindle to the stage of the brain ignoring them, until they vanish. This wispy dead spider, though, bothered me. At home I walked through an unlit area of the house and when I blinked I saw flashes of light in that eye. A quick search on t'internet for "floaters" and "flashes" convinced me I should go to an optician pronto.
I was lucky to get an appointment for this afternoon.
I thought I would kill several birds with the same stone, so I planned to buy some horse feed on the way into Penrith, and go to Harold's on the way home to have the front tyres on the car swopped to the back (and vikky verky) to even out the wear. I bought three bags of feed at WCF and decided to put them in the back seat, so as not to obstruct Harold's merry men when I asked them to check the spare in the boot.
As I was lifting the largest, heaviest bag, I caught my left foot against a ridge in the paving. It was a tiny ridge, so small that afterwards I couldn't even identify it, let alone point a finger at it and yell, "Bastard!" Unbalanced by the weight of the feed, I collapsed into the back seat with a torn calf muscle giving me hell.
After some very unladylike language and several hammer blows on the offending bag, I heaved the rest of the feed into the car, hissed-and-swore my way into the driving seat and drove into town changing gear rather cautiously. Most of the car parks I passed were full, which doesn't often happen on a Wednesday (Penrith was just mad with cars all afternoon. I've no idea what is on; can anyone enlighten me?) However, I did find a space in a park I seldom use. It was close to a ticket machine and not far from the optician's, so I was miraculously able to stagger into the shop, punctual to the minute.
A young man came to greet me. "How can I help you?"
I said, "I have an appointment," and gave my name. I was at the babbling stage by then. "Would you do me a favour? I've hurt my leg, so would you bring me a drink of water so I can take some painkillers?" I may have said other things, but that was the gist.
I carried on massaging the muscle. Elderly mother ignored me but the man seemed sympathetic, so I explained the reason for my slightly strange behaviour. He offered to lay me on the floor and rub my leg for me. I grinned, as well as I was able, and the young assistant saved me by returning with a thick earthenware mug of water.
He apologised for the mug.
He said, "I'm so sorry, but I couldn't find any glasses."
The elderly man said, "You'd never think we were in SpecSavers."
Post Script: The optician was able to reassure me that the damage in my eye was nothing to worry about. He did, however, seem slightly worried by the Penrithian sense of humour.
The Forthright Saga ~ http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/forthright.htm
Cover for the Forthright SagaNothing ever happens in an English country town ... does it? Nora Forthright and her grandson Wayne stumble through the fictional Cumbrian towns of Dangleby and Pullet St Mary, putting things right entirely by accident.
GENRE: Comedy / cosy crime.
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9573612-3-2
Kindle ASIN: B0099RQNLU :: ISBN: 978-0-9573612-2-5