- makeswordswork
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”
Updated: Jun 11, 2021

It was a bloody stupid idea, is what it was. But there you go.
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I’m 32, 5’2” and (probably) within a stone of my ideal weight (minus Covid-Chocs and the odd glass of Shiraz).
Corona-Virus hasn’t got me down – no-sir-ee – I’ve been busy. Re-disinfected every corner, re-discovered why I never learnt Russian; re-read all of: Austin (Brilliant); Elliot (Honestly?); Hardy (Sigh…); Dickens (“It is a far, far, better thing that I do now...” - gets me every time).
But, a new challenge is required.
I am going to achieve my girlhood dream, do the one thing that I’ve never been able to.
Thank God for YouTube. There’s literally nothing you can’t learn, including: “How to do a Cartwheel in six easy steps”.
I’ll be like one of those girls in the park on a summer’s day. Effortless. I’ll have one foot raised, hands above my head, launch into a human blur of limbs, gracefully turning, landing upright, arms aloft, almost as if I had never moved.
Simple.
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“OWWWW”
“Oh God…. Jeeeeezuuuuz….. That hurts.”
Oh Effing hell, look, there’s blood everywhere.
All that practice. Sodding YouTube. I should have moved the pictures, when I shifted the sofa. Didn’t think about the prints.
“Owwwww.”
Urgh. It’s all sticky. My lovely rug...
Still bleeding, quite a puddle now. Where’s my phone? If I can just wriggle over there on my back…
Can’t see the keypad, need the nines.
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“Yes, that’s right, I live alone. The door’s locked. Don’t think I can; stuck on the floor. Try the nice bloke at Number 3? He’s got a spare, for emergencies.”
“It’s my leg. Lots of blood. I cut it. I was trying to… Umm... Does it matter? It’s really sore. I’m so tired now. And cold. Send someone soon?”
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“Hello lovely Mr No.3. Thank you. Sorry: sleepy, it’s really chilly. Who’s here with you?”
“Oh…”
Ambulance WOMEN – just my luck.
“Please, please don’t do… Yes, that, don’t do that. Yes it does bloody hurt.”
“Owwwwwww.”
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What did they give me? Still hurts but now I don’t care.
Whoah, careful guys, not made of rubber…
Cor – look - ceiling tiles, strip lights, just like the movies.
“Hello Doctor. Oh. That sounds bad. Yes. Whatever you think.”
“Eaten? Breakfast. Spent hours on the rug. Could murder a cuppa.”
“10, 9, 8, 7….”
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“But I am better. You know I’m better. I’ve walked round the room, been to the loo, I climbed your stairs-thingy and learnt to use the crutches…”
“No. No-one. But seriously, I’m fine.”
“Who?”
Wow
“Really?”
“Why?”
That’s definitely neighbourly…
“When?”
“What time is it? Shit. I’m a mess. Twenty minutes? Help me get in the shower then.”
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“Hi. We’ve never really talked much.”
“Ok, then. Well, Dave,”
Mustn’t giggle.
“Hi, I’m Gina.”
“You really didn’t have to offer…”
“Yup, all ready”
“Actually, I could murder a cup tea…”
Am I blushing?
“Sounds lovely…”
Oh no, I giggled!
Writing by JULIE WILSON
Artwork ‘gymnastics and red wine do not mix’ by BRONACH RAE