Me Again

A little narcissistic this evening, to even out the balance with the picture of Pixie the other day - I'm fairly minuscule in this image, though, a state of being that has tended to elude me in the past.

Being boldly built is not always as beneficial as it might seem. Admittedly I have many casual friendships with little old ladies in supermarkets for whom the Rich Tea biscuits are a shelf too high. I am always on hand to tie balloons to the porches of new housing schemes and few screw-topped jars can resist my vice-like grip.

But.

My head is too close to many of the door lintels that I come in contact with on a daily basis and, to add insult to injury, my feet are too far from my head. These lower appendages have a quasi-independant existence, constantly at war with protruding objects, loose paving slabs and puddles. Their close relatives, my shins, are permanently scarred and scabbed through encounters with coffee tables and five-barred gates. It's rough down there, in the dark and dank regions beyond my knees.

I reached 6' 3" in my teens. However I have not been measured in the vertical sense for many decades and unless everyone around me is shrinking at an alarming rate, it is my reasoned belief that I am still growing. This is not a good thing; I have already reached a point where further extension in any direction could only be construed as extravagance.

So let me away to a sporting goods shop for a cricketing helmet, some shin-guards and a pair of stout miner's boots.