The first time it happened, it was in front of an oncoming bus on the Cabra Road. Not as dramatic as it sounds, I dusted the snow off my jacket and paid my fare, ignoring the sniggers of those on the ground floor and the onlookers who could have helped me up. But didn't. Geebags.
The second time was on Suffolk Street. I saw the number 10 bus and hastened to make it but went flying. Two Italian girls this time, nice sorts, made nice to me and offered me their assistance.
The third time it happened? Twenty minutes ago. I'd tiptoed my way from the 122 around the corner to my flat, stepped over the last vestiges of lying snow in the garden outside my house when THWACK, a balletic but stupid slip at the last possible black spot before my front door and safety. The Thai Chicken Soup in my carrier bag wasn't as lucky as me (no bruises) and now sits in a vomitous heap outside my gate, the bits of rice and gloop giving the lie because I never seem to fall when I'm drunk.
Unless you're counting that time on Pearse Street.
11 comments:
Rock it Radge, rock za 2010, yeah...
Fnar fnar. Sorry.
Arf. There was no need to apologise.
You need to carry a Saxa around with you.
crampons, that'll sort yeh.
I already have a pretty large Saxa. Oik.
Red - crampons? (dare I ask)
And every time a Dublin Bus bus was in very close proximity eh? Hmmmmm. A conspiracy theory develops.
And you'd think by 2010 you could step into your RadgeaPorter and teleport yourself from A to B without all the icy shenanigans. But then you wouldn't get the care and attention of nice sort Italian girls tho.
get yersel some funky golf shoes, man!!!
NaRocRoc - I was too shaken to be charming, unfortunately. Think that incident got its own blog.
Barman - You return! Your advice is noted.
come on Radge, you didn't google 'crampon' ?
Just now. Too late, as it goes.
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