You need hands

I was heel-clicked incarnate. Honestly, the cliché police, if they existed, would have thrown the book at me or locked me up and thrown away the key. Nothing could stop me in this mood. I was on top of the world, soaring like a cold blister and full of beans that could make a new forest. As I walked down the street I was the shiniest on show by a city mile (not in the country and anyway, a mile’s a mile for all that). I couldn’t resist singing my favourite Scorpions song “Here I am, Rock you like a Harry Kane.”

Then Destiny called. “Hello, you,” she said.

A driver had lost control of his Ford F650 pick up truck and had driven it onto the pavement. Careering at speed it was almost upon a young boy who was walking in front of me. I had a split second to make a decision. 

With utter selflessness I opted to take the hit and therefore I pushed the young boy onto the road out of harm’s way. However, at the same hundredth of a second the driver corrected his vehicle and swerved back onto the road before braking hard. It skidded twenty yards before stopping.

Time stood still until a young voice started crying. Miraculously, because of the height of the truck, it had passed over the child underneath. He escaped with minor cuts and bruises. Then an adult voice piped up “You lunatic”. I couldn’t agree more. Obviously, the passers-by were about to vent their fury on the driver. I joined in.

“You are a lunatic” I piped.

“Not him, you” said another irate pedestrian, piping at me, sorry, pointing at me.

“What did I do?”

“You almost killed the boy.”

“What! I saved him, you should be giving me a medal.”

“I know what we’ll give you.”

The conscientious observers that did nothing to avert the near tragedy were now in a paramilitary frame of mind. They were ganging up on me, hood style. Let’s not get ridiculous, they didn’t have pitch forks or torches because those aren’t the type of things you walk about with and they aren’t really readily available. What they did have was numerical advantage. This forced me to issue the warning I’ve waited all my life to say.

“Stand back. These hands are lethal. I had two karate lessons…in 1976!”

16 thoughts on “You need hands”

  1. We all, in a very real sense, run the continual risk of being traumatised by our past posts, JW. But, you’ve lost me with this one.

    Did it all really happen or you gilding lilies in the interest of dramatic denouement?

    Haw me, by the way! I spelt, or alternatively, spelled, ‘denouement’ sans any Google.

    I was. however, totally inadequate ‘alternatively’-wise. Took four runs at it before I was de-redlined.

    Anyhoo, and this matters, I sense a wind of change in Caledonia (stern and wild). Suddenly, I do not feel alone when I cry ‘C’mon England. Good manager and a team that it is a wee bit difficult not to like.

    For the avoidance of doubt, I still hate the English rugby team big time – in particular, I blame Will Carling and Dylan Hartley for that.

  2. Apologies, JW.

    I have just ranted and posted without addressing the trigger that set me off.

    I refer, of course, to your title – ‘You Need Hands.’

    I flew back 60 years . Sunday morning in Kinnoull Parish Church. Belted out a few hymns and then got funnelled out to the Church Hall for Sunday School. Up to date and radical, cutting edge content including Max Bygrave’s greatest hit. Sometimes, we followed that up with his Pink v Blue toothbrush classic.

    You had to be there!

  3. Yes, JM, let’s singalongamax! The boy Jordan’s got hands, I’m relieved to see. Otherwise the friendly VAR will let on if a dusky Diego tries anything. Although Sweden’s still generally blond. Of course it’s Brexit that is winning us so many friends -from as far afield as North Britain. I blame Boris.

  4. Mad Max was quite a boy!

    “We all, in a very real sense, run the continual risk of being traumatised by our past posts” Mr M I have 700 or so previous clangers in the archive. I’m past trauma (you should see the ones that don’t make the cut!)

    Punchline courtesy and copyright of Dolores Doolittle. She is a star. Took her denouethingy and worked backwards. All fantasy, of course.

    The real football starts tonight. 30,000s of us going to a “friendly”. We come to Bury them not praise them.

  5. Mr J-man, much as I love the Football’s Coming Home anthem and the new “drinking all the vodka” hit. this North Britonner (got red-lined there. Sheesh, thought it was a word) does a Diego and wears the colours of all of England’s opponents. Come on ABBA.

  6. You’ll be leading their dirge-rap arrangement of Waterloo then! They’ll be crying for their Mama Mia!

  7. Coincidentally, Mr J-man, and don’t tell any of my heavy metal pals, me and Mrs JW are going to an ABBA tribute night next Wednesday(King’s Theatre Glasgow) Will I sing The Winner Takes It All? I have a dream…

  8. Can your svensker score 5 penalties? ⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️⚽️ Or will they be turnips?

  9. Aye weel, JW. England still have a dream and it is, in my opinion, high time that you bought into it. If Coisty can do it, why can’t you?

    The choice is now betwen our Southron friends, a country that was happy to be a puppet state of Hitler, the ‘dirty,greasy Belgian bastards’ of Monty Python fame or, and I can’t think of any worse way to describe them, the French.

    Who do have a good anthem, to be fair.

    C’mon England!

  10. Buggrit, JW. Forgot to congratulate you for the 41,000 fans who turned up to welcome Stevie G. to Ibrox for a meaningless friendly. I’d use the ‘bury the opposition’ joke, were it not for the fact that you already did.

    That turnout is totally impressive.

    It’s depressing that the C-word saddoes keep trotting out this crud about your Club not being here any more.

    You are back and I wish you luck in Europe. Not in the League, of course, where I hope that we will stuff you at every opportunity.

  11. When you two furreners have done, them Swedes was rooted to places near the spot when ‘Arry2 and Dele scored. And Jordan kept ’em out. Get back home over the bridge, svensker!

  12. CD, the players sometimes fail to communicate, allegedly. Some kind of language barrier…..😉

  13. JM, I will always love Super but have to politely disagree with him this time, more than any other time. Let them have their 1966 and let their years of hurt continue.

    Croatia were my pick pre-tournament and now it is their turn to play Southgate’s Waistcotta Army. Will watch the match in catch up time as I will be singing and clapping with ABBA impersonators on Wednesday. Bunch of Svenskers.

    J-man. I was rooting for the England cricket team today…

    CD: didn’t fancy the Flaming Walloonies to do well. Not up to date with European politics, too many deals and no deals, but how can the football team be any good when Belgium haven’t had a parliament for donkey years?

  14. Janus: If the Belgians would be sensible they’d agree to speak a proper language, such as English, but they’re not and they continue to rabbit on in rubbish versions of Dutch and Frog.

    TR: They’re torn between wanting to win and the realisation that victory would force them to admit that Belgium actually exists, thus confirming their worst nightmares.

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