And no. I’m talking about today when Mother Nature decided to give me the worst blow job of my life, and no, not THAT kind…
Get your minds out of the gutter (where, coincidentally, I nearly ended up.)
Let me paint you a picture of pure British meteorological insanity:
There I was, strutting out of my house like some discount-bin protagonist, thinking I was the main character in my own story.
(NARRATOR: He was not…)
He was, in fact, about to become the comic relief in Mother Nature’s slapstick morning special.
The wind.
Holy shit-whistles, THE WIND. It wasn’t just blowing, it was conducting a full-scale aerial assault on my dignity.
Picture a leaf blower operated by a caffeinated raccoon with a vendetta. That kind of wind.
And then it happened.
My body. All 187 pounds of sleep-deprived writer meat, got caught in what can only be described as Nature’s version of a mosh pit. I spun like a hamster wheel powered by pure panic and yesterday’s poor life choices.
My arms? Windmilling like a Wacky Waving Inflatable Tube Man having an melt down.
The finale? My ass made sweet, passionate contact with the pavement.
But wait! There’s more! (Sorry Billy Mays)
My neighbour.
Let’s call her Margaret (because that’s her actual name and at this point, why protect the witnesses?) had front-row seats to this slip of shame. There she was, about to take her dog for a walk and probably out to fight her way to the freshest milk bottled at the local shop before 8 am, when she got the morning entertainment she never asked for.
The worst part? She didn’t even try to hide her laughter. Just stood there, dog roaring to go, cackling like a hyena who just discovered Netflix comedy specials.
And there’s a lesson in this here email…
- Writers turn trauma into content (it’s literally in the job description)
- Someone needs to warn you about the UK’s secret weapon of mass humiliation (Wind for the next few days…)
- My dignity was already gone, might as well get some engagement out of it
Rating: 0/10 – Would not recommend getting physically dominated by British weather while your neighbour watches.
Stephen Walker
P.S: To all those who clicked thinking this was about something else, you’re part of the problem, and I respect that.
P.P.S: Margaret, if you’re reading this, I saw you record it. We need to talk about royalties.
If you’re not diggin’ these tasty little emails anymore you can hit the unsubscribe button right here >>> unsubscribe
Stephen Walker
Unit 146317
PO Box 7169
Poole
BH15 9EL
United Kingdom