Half Life – 30 – beer
May 21st, 2021
Four days can pass without leaving the front or back door. Rain, hail, cancelled plans, and home delivery conspire to ensure stepping outside at either end of the house doesn’t happen. The excitement generated by having to pick up Younger Boy from a tennis lesson at the end of a week spent indoors, a drive of less than a minute, emphasised the cruel reality that being locked in can become a bad habit. Finding excuses, however flimsy, to escape, is an essential survival skill if insanity is to be avoided for a little longer.
Spurred by civic duty, and the suggestion from a couple of friends in The Village that a Sunday mid-afternoon pint in the covid friendly marquee at the back of a pub might be a good idea, I committed to being there. The need to support local businesses is a responsibility we have all taken seriously over the covid months, and the hospitality industry needs our support more than most. Just how to get there on a day of solid rain was unresolved. Driving was not an option given the need to drink beer, which left only The Beast, the loyal mobility chariot, which doesn’t have a cover. Undeterred, and long past worrying about the smart comments and stares it gets, the electric cart was manoeuvred out of the garage during a brief pause in the deluge. Thirty yards from home and the rain kicked off again, but harder. The skies went back to emptying like a bucket just as the golf umbrella, brought as a last-minute thought, opened fully and, by luck, covered all but the very front end of the scooter. Coping with a pair of crutches on it is hard, add in another long unwieldy object and the lack of a third arm becomes a serious shortage. My new purple and white roof was finally fixed in place by clutching it between my legs and trapping it in my chin. By the time it came to crossing the main road the drumming on the umbrella was so loud the passing cars would have been unable to hear my rendition of singing in the rain. The Beast ploughed fearlessly on, through puddles halfway up the wheels and narrowly missing the dog deposits left on the pavement by caring and considerate dog owners who, I am sure, will return later in the day with the poo-bags they forgot and pick up the mess their dogs left behind.
Seeing the curious hybrid golf cart/mobility scooter speeding towards the marquee in the pub’s carpark, my beer companions yanked open the entrance flaps and, to the surprise of the other occupants, stood back as I drove straight in and parked at the end of our table. Closing down the soaking umbrella before going in might have been a better idea and less conspicuous, but the water on the floor soon soaked away. Rewarded with beer, the adventure was worth it as pints, slightly diluted by the weather on their journey, were brought across the courtyard by damp, but attentive, bar staff.
After hours of being dedicated to putting more liquid in us than had fallen outside, another break in the rain signalled the time to head home. The error of failing to make a pre-emptive visit to the toilet before setting off became evident while the lights at the crossing kept me waiting for an eternity. Prostate cancer patients are not renown for being able to hold it for long periods and by the time I was outside the garage the desperation to get The Beast into the dry was matched by my own internal desperation. Parked in haste, it needed re-parking in order to get the garage doors shut. Manoeuvring the Beast is best done when sitting on it, sober, and not with an exploding bladder to distract you. The attempt to drive it when standing next to it resulted in pressing the forward trigger too hard. Leaping forward at full speed the flimsy door of the cupboard it hit caved in completely. The spinning wheels let loose an ear-splitting scream in complaint at being unable to go any further into the splintered wood. Drunken panic resulted not in finding the reverse trigger but in pressing forward even harder, which gave The Beast reason to complain even more loudly. Eventually reversing it out of the cupboard door I was relieved to see the chariot was unharmed. The cupboard, which we had hoped to hand on to someone who could use it, was now destined for the skip. A further quick check confirmed the Beast wasn’t even scratched before a dash towards the house as fast as the sticks would allow, hoping there was not about to be a second, personal and embarrassing, accident moments after the first one. With seconds to spare the downstairs toilet came to the rescue, the only water soaking through my clothing was rainwater.
Sympathy for the chariot was considerable as The Wife and The Boys joined forces in what was much deserved mockery. Various websites confirm that while driving mobility scooters when, probably, over the drink/drive limit is not illegal, it is very strongly advised against. The solution, however, seems to be on The Beast itself. It has a switch to change from high to low speed. Clearly, the lower setting is designed for those with dulled reaction times. The only remaining challenge will be to remember to flick that switch before heading home after the next trip to the pub.
So funny, glad you had fun at the pub 🥰
I can just imagine you! Too funny. I find labels on things help with the memory these days!! x