The Felon's Balls

Yes, I am going to wish everyone a very Happy Thanksgiving-but first, a true story (yet another one) that will make you laugh. Or cringe. Or both.

Since last time I have done the hospital run nearly every day. Some people have the school run, I have the hospital run. I'm certain that the school run is a lot more fun. And this bloody double-stuffed Oreo in my chest isn't getting any less painful -but try to explain that to doctors...I've given up even talking to doctors. Most of them have been coughing and spluttering - there's flu going around - so I try not to sit downwind. And I still got it anyway. Boo. If everyone would just stop breathing, I would never get sick. Of course, then I would also have nobody to wind up, nobody to be the recipient of my potshots (which, if I may say so, are pretty bloody good!), and I would be absolutely bored to tears. So there goes that idea.

In between going and waiting, and waiting, and waiting...(you get the picture)...I had a Saturday that was free. I decided to go to the West End to buy another adaptor for my laptop, since mine has expired. It is dead as a dodo-so off I went to find a replacement. And there I was, at 9am on Saturday (last week), going full speed ahead down Oxford Street-always a joy. Always packed. But I was early enough to get in and out before the hordes started pushing and shoving-or so I thought. Wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong!!

I got pushed aside by a couple of people coming my way, not looking, not moving, not apologizing-too bad, because I so wanted to tell them where to shove their apology. And then I got hit from behind-I wasn't expecting that, and I very nearly fell over. Well, I've had four and a half years of these morons hitting me, and enough was enough. I exploded. In fact, I went ballistic.

I have to preface this by telling you that I was brought up not to swear. If I said darn, I got told that young ladies don't use bad language. God help me if I said "damn"- I was told off and grounded. I once said shit-and I very nearly got my mouth rinsed out with soapy water. I say very nearly: my mother tried, and I punched her. That was the last time she tried, and for the rest of my childhood I only swore silently. Lovely child-I was just lovely (assertive, though!!).

But here I turned around and I screamed at the woman : "Are you fucking retarded???". She just looked at me-and I went off like an H-bomb. "what the hell, do you think this (I waved the stick) is there for decoration? What kind of an imbecile are you? Is everyone in your family brain-dead, or just you?" She looked at me and said that I had tripped her, and that was all I needed. I said "you came up from behind me, how did I trip you? Do I have eyes in the back of my head? What a fucking asshole you are!!" And I was just warming up.

She then had the nerve to say that I had offended her. And I raised my stick, took it with both hands, pointed it at her, and snapped: " I offended you? I offended you?? You retard, I'll show you how I offend you. Bend over and I will shove this stick so far up your fat ass, it will come out your mouth!" She looked at me, I took two steps forward, and she turned and waddled away as quickly as she could. Like a whale being chased by Captain Ahab and his harpoon.

An old man was standing a few feet away, smoking a cigarette, and laughing all the time I was snapping at this imbecile. And he was laughing so hard I thought he was going to have a seizure. I looked at him and said that I just can't believe these people-and that this has been going on for four years. I've had enough, I said. So he looked at me, and said-"young lady"-well, I liked him already. Needed glasses, but I liked him anyway. Then he proceeded to bang on about how bad this country has become, and even the people who grew up here can't be bothered to have manners, etc, etc...he went on for about ten minutes, and then he stopped and told me that people from other countries aren't the only ones who are carrying knives, cans of stuff designed to blind someone, and I need to be more careful. He warned me: don't talk back to these people, even though I want to swear at them or just tell them off. You never know who is going to beat or stab you-or worse, he said. He told me that I made his day-in fact, I made his week-by having a go, but he then said that he didn't want to read about me in the newspapers. So I thanked him-and I said that I wasn't sorry I did that, in fact, I felt terrific. We said our goodbyes, and I went on my merry way.

I kept his warning in mind when I was nearly home, and outside a supermarket there was a big kerfuffle. Some guy was trying to steal a woman's handbag-that usually doesn't happen near home, it isn't a huge crime area (well, it wasn't, anyway), and he was pulling one way, she was not going to give it up without a fight. And I noticed that she was using a cane-well, I wasn't having that, was I?

Just as I started to go nearer-with the intention of getting stuck in (fool that I am sometimes), she turned around, lifted one leg, and kicked him so hard in the balls that he doubled over. It was glorious. I looked at her and said "now that's what I call a bullseye"- and she smiled and said that he had picked the wrong person, because she spent years learning-kick boxing. Oh, brilliant. Not only was that brilliant, but my local Starbucks is only three shops away, and the uproar caught the attention of two people sitting and having coffee: two police people-who promptly came out and arrested the guy.

Somewhere in North London there is a guy who can now probably audition for the Vienna Boys Choir. And-I wonder how easy it would be for me to learn kickboxing??

Last year I wasn't sure I would make it to Thanksgiving-and it wasn't a very good one, because I was just too sick to enjoy it. In fact, I've had not-so-great (and sometimes not at all) Thanksgivings since 2010. So for me, this is the first good one in some time. I'm sitting down later and making a list of everything I have to be thankful for-after all, what other reason is there to celebrate Thanksgiving (apart from gluttony, of course: masses of food and drink. Hail to that, I'm all for it) except to be grateful?

I'm still here. In spite of the best efforts of some doctors (we all know who they are, don't we?), I am still here. I'm not 100%, but I am working on it. If I had nine lives of a cat, I would probably be on life number 7.
So, even though I get very down at times (especially when I fall over), I know how lucky I am. And it seems that a lot of people are starting to read this blog, so I must be doing some good somewhere. How cool is that!!!

Happy Thanksgiving. Have something strong in my name. I'm having a glass of champagne in yours!!