For those that are not aware, this little blue dude is a member of Roger Hargreaves Mr Men that goes by the name of Mr Bump. Since I can remember, most of my family - my late Granddad in particular - used to refer to me as Mr Bump.

If you've been reading here for any real length of time, you will probably understand WHY, but if not (or if you're a bit special) it's simply because I am accident prone.

From the youngest age, I have managed to find stupid things to fall into, on to, off of or even through. I've had bumps, scrapes, cuts, stitches, sprains, tears, fractures, breaks, concussions and various types of poisoning. When I say the following, I don't mean I did it on purpose, but MOST of all of this has been self-inflicted.

Sheer stupidity, for the most part. Not looking where I am going or whatever.

However, a fair few of these incidents over the years have just been sheer bad luck. Gravity being a bit stronger here, a pool of flammable liquid there...

This last week, gravity seems to be a bit thicker where ever I go, and has definitely got it in for me. Having a busy Saturday planned - which is a post all of its own to come in the next few days - we decided last week that I should take it easy, not do too much, and not knacker myself out so I could enjoy the day.

Despite my body attempting to sweep, mop, lug laundry around, wander to and from town, I resisted. I was determined to feel good for Saturday.  Thursday, Kellie goes off to work, and I bring down a few bits of laundry to do - not much, just a few odds and sods to keep abreast of things. I realise I have left my phone on the bed, so go back up, get my phone, and come back down. 

Gravity struck.

About halfway down the stairs, my brain frazzled. With confusion in my brain I kinda sorts forgot how to walk, and decided the simplest way down the stairs was to tumble down on my back side.  As I toppled, the gum I was chewing flew straight down my windpipe and wedged in there good and tight. I crashed down seven or eight stairs, bouncing on my coccyx, jarring my spine good and proper and finally, coming to a crashing rest on my lower back. Lucky for me, that final bump caused the gum wedged in my throat to cough out.

The thought crossed my mind that had I managed to save myself falling, I would have probably choked to death. So hurrah for little victories I suppose.

I was a very very sore boy from Thursday onwards - including Saturday unfortunately.

Saturday was a very busy day, so by about 5pm, I was dead on my feet, but carried on.

Sunday, I took it easy as best I could.

Monday, I was a bit of a crap mess. I could hardly walk, I was shuffling around like a prat, but as usual, everything went pear-shaped. Thanks to changing our electricity supplier, the cheeky gits that we were with previously opted to take a final charge from our electric meter. Which left us with 11p to see us through till Wednesday. Which wasn't going to happen. Added to this, we were skint. Proper broke. Not two coins to rub together (to generate electricity I suppose)

A quick phone call to the 0dd Mother, and she had some money we could borrow for a couple of days - but she couldn't come out as she has ManFlu. With the girls due to go to Beavers/Cubs, and dinner on, I told Kellie I'd shoot over on the bike. Granted, I felt like arse, but didn't want her out in the dark riding across Basildonia. It's a good few miles each way, and she's not cycled for ages, so I said "It's all good, I'll go..."

Just over the halfway mark TO the 0dd Mothers, my brain frazzled out once again. While peddling down St. Nicholas Lane at a decent rate of knots, I literally, honest-to-god, could not figure out how to PEDDLE. I got so confused, and my brain stepped in.
"Hang about Dan, you're doing it wrong..." it piped up "You need to be peddling with your ARMS and HANDS! DUUUUH!"

So, my body dutifully responded. While gripping the handlebars, I tried to push and pull them forwards in an attempt to peddle with them.

No, I know it makes no sense what-so-ever, but that's how it was at the time.  Of course, jamming the handlebars ninety degrees left while travelling at speed only ended in one way. Gravity, once again, took over, and down I went. CRASH! onto the left knee, THWACK! onto the left shoulder, SPANG! onto the left side of my noggin.  However, the knee took the brunt of it, and I hit with such force, my knee tore through my very nice and very favourite pair of jeans I got for my birthday and left several inches of flesh on the pavement. In a trade, however, the pavement left several nice deposits of grit and crap (not literal) in the flesh on my knee.

Being fifteen minutes from mums, I opted to walk the rest of the way, and when I got there, I showed my mummy my owie.  Mummy then proceeded to SCRUB it clean with disinfectant and SCRAP out the grit and crud left behind.

I phoned Kellie to tell her I was a knobhead, and after she finished laughing, she called me a few choice names for being a dick.

I still maintain, however, it was NOT my fault. My brain frazzled out and completely lost the plot.

Silly brain.

After getting scraped and bleached clean, having a drink, knocking back some meds, I then proceeded on the very long, slow and painful journey home, rushing as best I could so the tribe I had abandoned wouldn't be left in the dark for long. It took me twice as long to get home, but I made it just in time and saved the day.  Granted, I was mocked for being a twat and laughed at, but Kellie did give me a cuddle.

So now today I am really feeling it. I have no energy, am eating painkillers like Smarties, am trying my damnest to do Sod-All (but failing, it has to be said!) and generally feeling very sorry for myself.

I often hoped, as a child, that this whole "Oops-Crash-Ouch" was just a phase. I hoped as a youngster once I learned co-ordination, it'd be better. Then as a teen, I hoped it was just where I was kind of gangly. Then as a young adult, it was because my body had stopped grown. Now, as a proper adult, I am hoping it's just a phase or something.

Maybe I SHOULD be one of these people that is wrapped in cotton wool - for the safety of others, if not myself...  But for now, I shall remain Mr Bump. As it says on the Mr Men homepage:
"If there were a prize for being accident prone, Mr Bump would probably trip over it."

Incidentally, for anyone wanting a big ol' picture of all the Mr Men/Little Miss, there's a high-res picture available by Clicking Here.

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