Last week, on the way home from the Queen’s Birthday Party at the Radisson, I managed to totally avoid the manholes that had no cover on them. There aren’t that many deep holes in the pavement, so the walk home didn’t seem too dangerous.
However, my brain didn’t tell me to avoid those with covers. Walking over one, the entire cover spun 90 degrees forward, meaning my right leg disappeared down the hole to just above my knee. It scraped off some hair and a few layers of skin, and inflicted a few small cuts. Add in a few nasty bruises and a funked up knee and ankle to complete the list.
I am glad Anna wasn’t around (Irina’s Mum was baby sitting her back at our flat), as quite a lot of very crude English words were uttered whilst I clambered out of the hole. Some how my suit trousers survived, with only some dirt on them, rather than the expected tears.
It is possible that if I’d been anything like approaching sober, I’d have avoided the stupid manhole altogether, however I didn’t think that a proper cover would just flip over like that. Lesson learnt, no permanent damage, and something to write about on my blog 🙂
Jun 15 2010
June 17th, 2010 3:50 am
Lmao, sorry, but it’s very funny to read about and does knowing that you’re ok allow me to be amused?
What were you doing wearing a suit though? Not like you to get all dressed up. Was Irina with you?
June 17th, 2010 2:06 pm
You’re allowed to be amused in either case, but you can be publicly amused since you know that I’ll live 🙂 Still have bruises, missing leg hair and a small scar/scab, but it could have been so much worse. If I had not thrown my arms out to each side instinctively, I hate to think what could have happened to my head falling all the way down the hole. So yeah, potential concussion, head trauma and broken legs narrowly avoided, but you go ahead, laugh 😉
The suit? Read the first line. As much as I’m a not known as a Royalist & also am a jeans & t-shirt guy 364.5 days/a year given the opportunity, when invited to the official Queen’s Birthday Party celebration by the British Embassy, at a swanky hotel in Astana, I don’t try and avoid a suit. No tie, waist coat or ring removal, obviously, but I wouldn’t want to disrespect the friends who work at the embassy, or cause embarrassment for Irina by being the only non-smart(ish) guy there.