dancingthroughchaos

‘Let me tell you, life is not fun when you’re banging your head against a brick wall all the time.’  – John McEnroe 

After all the excitement and celebration at the niece’s glorious wedding, we took a breath and decided to enjoy being in the Cotswolds by taking our time on the way home.  The weather was bright and the trees a spectrum of autumn loveliness.

Being so close to Cirencester, a place I’d never been before, it seemed a good idea to take an hour or so and pay a visit.  Cirencester, my internet told me is a historic market town with a population of just over 20,000 situated on a tributary of the Thames.  So far so good.

The husband had zero interest in checking the place out and, since he is still in desperate need of two new knees, I could hardly blame him. Instead, he tipped me out in a side street and went off in search of coffee while I did the exploring.

First visit was to the outside Saturday market.  There was a fabulous display of fresh artisanal cheese, bread, fresh veg and meats on display, augmented by chutneys, gifts, cosmetics etc and the stirrings of Christmas mania hung in the air much like the South African flag which signalled a stop off for (expensive) biltong and droewors. I resisted but zipped around with one eye on the clock, and peeled off to investigate the Corn Hall Indoor Market across the street.  Here, Christmas vibes were very much in evidence with stalls exhibiting jewellery, knits, wooden toys, crafts, decor, art, bags, scarves etc.  Gift heaven for those who haven’t begun.  

Since I am always ahead of the game in the festive department, and seeing time slip away from me, I decided on a swift exit so I could visit the other end of the High Street where I anticipated a few bargains with my name on them.

Alas; the best laid plans… I found myself hedged in by trestle tables and an elderly couple for whom time was no object.  No problem, I thought, I’ll just nip past them in this gap between a shop and the mannequin outside it.

BANG! 

It was at that moment that the sky fell in.  Not literally, I was relieved to discover.  The gap was not a gap at all but a clear glass door without frosting, etching, label or notice, off which I ricocheted with impressive ‘bounce’.

Oh my word!  My sunglasses promptly fell down from their balanced position on my forehead, so effectively everything went dark.  An enormous crash was the sound of the mannequin giving way to gravity.  As I reeled away from the impact dazed and extremely confused my head throbbed and my nose gave up the struggle as an impressive amount of blood started to flow…

Frankly, I was fortunate.  It could have been a lot worse.  I didn’t break my nose, put my (thankfully intact) teeth through my lip or shatter the door (that would have been a fun one on the insurance form).  I was highly disoriented as my brain only slowly processed the unwelcome news that the imagined gap was a solid piece of glass, now splattered with blood.

At this point I should give a shout out to the lovely couple who interrupted their shopping trip to help me, summon a chair and a cup of tea, as well as armfuls of tissue.  God bless them!  Apologies to Jules of The Witch’s Knickers shop who had the unenviable job of cleaning up the carnage and who was the unenviable assistant on duty in the shop that day.  She was probably worried that there would be reams of litigation coming her way.  However, I still believe that accidents happen, though aIso strongly suggested a sign on the door would help establish it’s permanence and solidity.

Whether they ever manage to get the blood stains out of the ancient stone flooring, I couldn’t say, although if I ever visit again I’ll check it out.

Had there been CCTV in the area it would make great viewing, especially in slow motion, but it seems I’m spared that.

Meanwhile, the elderly couple carried on blissfully unaware of the drama in their wake.  I shrugged off the plan to call paramedics and, once the bleeding stopped, resumed my bargain hunt and was rewarded with a Fat Face coat in a charity shop for the princely sum of £18 which I found online retailing at £110-120.  A welcome consolation prize for a throbbing head. As you can see from the photo on the right, I was perhaps not quite as together as I’d first thought.

It was two days later when I realised I could barely see straight and, appreciating Mr McEnroe’s astute words, wisely took myself off to A & E for a concussion assessment and treatment.  I can confirm: a bang on the head is not fun.

Apparently all is well neurologically, although my husband is not completely convinced…

[Images: Pixabay, ‘The Witches Knickers’ website and my own]