There are those who believe bad things happen in uninterrupted threes. I’m not one. But when three nasty incidents hit me in one morning, I was tempted to become a believer.
I set out to watch test cricket between the Proteas and India. But when anti-Castle man Hashim was skittled for three, and being the coward I am, I switched off.
I vented my frustration at the mower and proceeded to cut grass that hid lion. The mower picked up on my mood and loosened the nut holding the blade that became a missile. It nicked my naked foot, leaving bright red blobs in its wake.
With dripping foot I continued cutting the pavement grass covered with yellow flowers. Rules of our complex say no weeds on outside lawns, so I set about cutting them down.
Suddenly, a rowdy commotion at the main gate. A mixture of shouting, sirens and heavy engines filled the air. The gates opened and in rumbled two huge fire engines the size of two rugby fields, followed by a paramedics vehicle.
The one turned the corner where I was standing, the other up our garage driveway. The paramedics’ van was wedged between the two, red lights still blazing away.
A frightening sight, especially when realising all the vehicles were surrounding me. Then a voice from the driver’s cabin in the sky shouted down at little old me. “Are you Number Two?” “Yes,” I whimpered.
“What?” “Yes!” I upped the decibels. “Well, you’re on fire!” The little ditty we used to sing as youngsters came to me. “Fire! Fire!” Your pants is on fire”. I subconsciously checked my behind. “Not you! Your house. Got a call to say there’s fire here. Open up.”
With heart in my mouth and pants ready for a water deluge, I rushed with the remote to open the garage doors.
Just then a familiar voice asked what sounded like a stupid question. “Are you guys sure i’ts this complex?” It came from Betsy our neighbour who always questioned things.
The fire was in the complex next door.
The noisy entourage turned tail and I was left sitting on the mower, awaiting the arrival of my Heidi to give me much needed succour.
Hopefully those were my three for the year.
It wasn’t to be. Two more followed: heart by-pass and gall-bladder removal.
Surely, the end must be in sight? Paid my dues in full?