Getting eggs from the local shop

The washing machine is going: “Clunk, clunk, clunk”.

That’s because my rucksack is having a wash. Yesterday, when I got home, I suddenly realised that I’d like some eggs. So I got back on my bike and went back to the village shop.

At the checkout, the girl asked if I’d checked the eggs. They really good in our local Coop. I said that yes; I’d checked the eggs, and they’re all good. Unless, of course, I managed to damage them on the way home. Wildly amusing.

When I’m nearly home, I need to turn right into our road. The trouble is that when the wind is blowing a hooly, I can’t hear if there’s anything behind me. My rucksack was bit heavy what with the milk, eggs and bananas, so I stopped at the kerbside to look back.

There were quite few cars coming up the Hempton Road, so I stood, half on the bike, with my back foot on the pavement, waiting for the traffic to pass. For some reason I moved my leg, and then needed to shift my position, but the bike was in the way, and I lost my balance, falling in an untidy heap backwards onto the pavement.

The cars passing didn’t stop to help, maybe because they could see that the old fool on the ground was giggling uncontrollably, but anyway the rucksack broke my fall.

My left knee is bloody sore this morning, and the washing machine is going: “Clunk, clunk, clunk”