Unfortunately at this point, just as her performance was reaching its heady climax (yes, she�s going for the copies, she�s picking them up�) the pot plant snapped and the desk collapsed. It�s quite interesting to see how much that hurt. The desk swung down extremely quickly, giving my leg a jolly good pat on the calf. The pot plant then, released from it�s pot, flew straight into my eye, which on the plus side gave me a close up view of nature, and no-one can ever have enough nature. The tableau I then presented must have looked comical, yet tragic, as I lay in the tangled mess of my chair, paper all over the place, plant all over my face and desk all over my leg. At that very moment the stapler decided to do it�s job and slid down the toppled desk and stapled me, but I was far more worried about the computer, which was looming over the top of the desk, only it�s power leads stopping the grinning beast from introducing itself to me, quite intimately.
Every cloud has a silver lining though (just because a saying isn�t true doesn�t make it any less valid) and this cloud was lined with Sara. She rushed over to see how I was, worry on her brow. Not that I could see her very well, what with bits of plant in my eyes. Nonetheless, what a perfect angel.
�Are you OK?� she asked, and I realised it was the first time I had heard her speak. Her voice was beautiful, but I found it quite hard to concentrate at the time, agony and ecstasy grabbing me in roughly equal measures. I considered the question she had asked, and, after some thought, gave the only accurate answer I could come up with:
�No, not really, thanks for asking very much so indeed.� I stammered, spitting out pot plant first. This wasn�t how I had envisaged our first conversation together, but then, beggars can�t be choosers, so I decided to make the best of it:
�So, how are you? It�s a nice day today isn�t it? That�s a lovely top you�re wearing, you do look lovely today.� I said, as debonair as I could, given circumstances. Her response was to lift the desk off my leg in a most useful way. With the desk lifted I could see the lovely bloodstain I was leaving on the carpet and thought to myself whimsically: �At least I�ve left something for them to remember me by� before passing out in a most sissy way.
I awoke literally seconds later, with a rolled up jumper under my head, feeling more than a little sheepishness (that is, I was feeling sheepish, not the rolled up jumper, that would be silly). Not severe sheepishness � I wasn�t growing a fleece or anything like that � but quite a lot of embarrassment. Sara was tying a tourniquet around my leg and the boss was looming:
�Hmm, yes, very good. Carry on.� He said, presumably thinking this kind of thing went on all the time in his offices.
Sara looked up at me, and I can only assume my attempt to do a loving face can�t have gone very well, as she looked quite worried and told me she would take me to casualty. The day was getting rather better than I had thought, though I had a nagging suspicion that I would miss �Ground Force� this evening, despite my looking forward to some prime chrysanthemum action.
In the car on the way to hospital, I found, to my surprise, that Sara was quite easy to talk to, and she even seemed interested in listening to me, laughing politely about my �Marmalade Glory� story and nearly losing her grip on the wheel at my Meer Cat impression. It turned out she really liked Elvis as well, and we sang along a bit. I was a little peeved when we arrived, and conversation had to stop.
As we sat down in A&E I noticed the other occupants: a kid with his head stuck in a saucepan, a very surprised looking old gentleman with an even more surprised looking pigeon stuck in his ear and world-renowned card sharp Brian of Lonsworth, sat in the corner, riffling a pack of cards and looking very shifty. Conversation here was not quite as good as in the car, but we still had a good time. I found myself with a new feeling � I liked Sara! Normally I merely loved her!
After I was stitched up we decided to go for a drink (I secretly was hoping that Ground Force would be on the pub telly), at a pub across the road. As we crossed, limping slightly in my case, I carelessly forgot to check both ways for traffic and was promptly hit by a bus (this happens a lot less than you might think. I know the saying: �You never know, might get hit by a bus tomorrow!� but the fact is very few people ever do, so I wouldn�t worry about it too much).
I awoke in bed, at home, alone. I was bemused, why wasn�t I in hospital at least, or dead? It had been quite a hard bus, after all. Looking down, my leg was fine, no stitches, pain or anything. Perhaps it never happened; perhaps this day had just been a dream, my desire for it, or something like it, so strong. Maybe it had all happened and I was dead, this was the afterlife: more of the same. Whatever the truth was, from then on I walked with a limp, for you can always hope.