Monster Munch

'Son in law' took me out to my stricken car yesterday, and stopped on the way to get fuel and a bag of Monster Munches. He has a brand new, sleek, black BMW for work.

He only has one hand (he lost the other as a child), so he has developed ways of opening crisp bags and other things over the years. As he ate the Monsters he took them out of the bag with his hand, holding the car more or less on course with both knees against the steering wheel.

As the car drifted slightly toward the oncoming traffic, I surprised myself by panicking a little and reaching for the imaginary brake with my foot. The head-on crash in the Volvo has produced some mild post-traumatic stress symptoms after all, but I have always been a bad passenger.

I had to walk from the other side of town the day of the crash, because the tow-truck driver dropped me at a convenient (for him) roundabout. I had already sent a picture of the accident scene to a friend who has an identical Volvo to mine and by the time I arrived in the pub, everyone had seen it.

They all looked at me as if I had come back from the dead, staring intently for any signs of external or internal injury. I tried not to make a big deal of it, but re-living the experience to them was quite exciting. Apparently the picture I sent him (the same one as the last post) has - in a small way - gone viral amongst my group. People are talking about changing their cars for a Volvo.

I learned a long time ago that if a child falls over and hurts itself, you get him/her to immediately talk about it by saying something like, "You fell over didn't you?" rather than trying to get them to forget about it as soon as possible. Reliving the experience immediately reduces the symptoms of shock and confusion quicker, and even reduces the physical pain caused by the event.

I once had an accident on a motorcycle when I lost grip on a bend and found myself heading toward a steel lamp-post with metal bollards either side of it. I chose a thin metal bollard to destroy, thinking that it would be a little more forgiving than the lamp-post.

As my wheel hit the kerb of the island, I flew over the handlebars and landed heavily on the road, right in front of a large party of Sunday School children.

The teacher obviously panicked and came running over shouting, "Get up. Get up!" whilst pulling at me to drag me to my feet. All I wanted to do was lie there for a few moments whilst I assessed the damage and got my breath back, but I was too weak to resist her.

A man came running out of a house as I stood limply on the pavement, and I thought he was going to tell us that he had called an ambulance which I did not need, but he had called the police to take my details for prosecution to pay for the street furniture I had destroyed. In those days, young men on motorbikes were always up to no good.

The police did arrive and warned me I would have to pay for the damage, despite that the road was worn slick through loss of chippings on the bend.

The next day, a Jaguar car skidded on the same bend and finished the job I had started - including demolishing the lamp-post.

Well, if you have got this far down this wordy post you deserve a prize. If you haven't, writing it has still served its cathartic purpose.