Metal acorns

I have to admit that absolutely nothing funny or interesting has happened to me this weekend. There has been a distinct lack of crimson-haired pensioners or strangely-behaving postmen. The weather has been and remains grey and uninspiring. It is at times like these that I dig into my copious files of hideously embarrassing incidents, which are now suitably long enough ago for me to laugh over and share them with others, like you, dear blog-readers.

Let's take the time when I was sitting in my old house in London, many moons back. I was having a kind of telephone interview with a serious and intimidating woman. In those days, I used to conduct most of my phone conversations at the kitchen table, where I would idly fiddle with something, or doodle, while chatting with the receiver tucked between ear and shoulder. On this particular occasion, I was playing with the blind pull, you know, that kind of string that you use to raise or lower a blind, which is weighted down by, in this case, a lump of lead formed into something aesthetically pleasing (I think it was an acorn - there's no accounting for taste). As I talked, I swung the metal acorn from side to side. Deep in discussion, I paid no heed to my actions and conked myself on the forehead with the acorn. I was stunned into silence. In fact I nearly fell off my chair. The serious lady asked if everything was ok. Momentarily I debated explaining what had just happened, then dismissed the idea - it would hardly make a good impression. Unlike the acorn on my forehead. I managed to pull myself together and finish the interview, making no sense whatsoever, and as a result never heard from her again.

This was one of the many times that I was SO glad there was no hidden camera in the room. At least if there was, I never saw the footage. Since then, I have replayed the scene in my mind and inwardly guffawed over what I must have looked like. It's good to laugh about these things, isn't it? And I hope, that if you are the kind of person to which these things never happen, I have brightened your Sunday with my tale.