Was a strange weekend. Somebody threw a brick through my window, which I thought rather rude.
It’s strange what goes through you head when the tinkling sound of glass invades your dream about David Beckham in leather hot pants. First you ask yourself if you’re in Germany or Austria in November 1938. Then you sniff the air to see if a petrol bomb followed the brick and finally you leap from your bed, pick up a heavy object and run downstairs with the sole intention of laying a burglar low. However after you get downstairs you discover that there is no burglar just lots of glass and a gentle breeze caressing your naked body, bringing into focus the flaw in your original laying low plan.
Then you run around the house grabbing anything small and square that can be nailed over the broken window panes. I picked up a baking tray and a sofa before settling on some bits of glass.
Well that’s what happened.
Then the paranoia sets in, you begin to ask yourself if somebody has it in for you. In my case I ran through a list of possibilities.
Am I a paedophile?
To answer this question I watched two episodes of the Wonder Years however rather than becoming tumescent I vomited for an hour. So checked that off my list.
Am I a Paediatrician?
I diagnosed that my friend’s child had a cold but she’d just had a curry. Check!
Eventually I realised that the thrower of the rock was a twat and was probably wearing tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie.
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