Thursday, September 29, 2011

My Slasher Zombie Adventure

On my travels about the four Kingdoms of the Orb I normally pack a few tissues in my back pocket for use in nasal emergencies. During the hay fever season there’s often a bulge in my trousers the size of a small Linford and people have been known to stop in the street, wondering if my pelvis has rotated a hundred and eighty degrees about the base of my spine (though they usually get what’s happening when they see my feet — and I sneeze).

Yesterday I was devoid of such mucus-busting luxuries. And yesterday, I had a killer nosebleed.

Stranded, half a mile from the train station (and tissue-vending shops), I began oozing blood like the leader of a horror zombie tribe, splashing droplets onto the pavement and spidery trails all over my fingers. Nothing I did could stop the flow. Very quickly, I realised it was Goodbye Fleece Time as I pinched the fluffy blue wuffiness of its fabric about my nostrils. “It will rinse out in the bath,” I thought, “as long as I make it home having not been drained of all fluid.”

But still the blood came, still it oozed, backing up against the top of my throat till I could hardly breathe. Every hundred yards I had to remove my fleecy bung in order to release the pressure. Sadly this also meant releasing a parabola of scarlet to shame the Black Knight scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

I suppose I should have knocked on someone’s door and asked to use a few sheets of kitchen roll — but there’s something about looking like you’ve just been in a life-and-death battle with a crazed Rottweiler that kind of kills the idea stone dead.

So I shambled on like a slasher movie victim (albeit without the eerie music).

Now, it isn’t every day you find a pair of white socks lying on the pavement, but I’m glad to say that yesterday, I did. It was a hot day for September — 27 degrees so we’re told — and I figured that maybe some svelte fitness freak had stripped them off during a run to cool herself down. Whatever the reason for them being there, I whipped them from the tarmac and bunged the least smelly up my right nostril, concluding that pride and emergencies share a mutual exclusivity along the lines of Little & Large and humour. Sadly the torrent-stemming effect turned out to be much the same as for my fleece, but at least I wasn’t ruining my own clothing.

And that’s when I encountered my first passer-by: a girl of nineteen or twenty (and possibly a student returning after the summer break).

My first thought was — are these her socks?, so I stared hard at her feet for a couple of seconds as my mind span with get-out clauses along the lines of hey look, I’ve found them — but then I got bitten by a horse.

My mistake here was to forget the golden rule of EYE CONTACT. Maybe if I’d thrown her a friendly smile, she might have wondered if my blood-drenched form indicated the presence nearby of a film crew, prompting her to clamber from her bike and volunteer herself as the victim of a zombie nibbling.

As it was, her startled eyes fell upon what was clearly the weirdo neighbourhood psycho killer, sniffing the foot fetish sock of his previous victim and hungry for the legwear of his next.

Her response was immediate, knee-jerk. Without pausing to gasp, she pedalled past me furiously, wailing, “aaaargh! Monster! Woman killer!”

Call me a quick learner, but that’s the last time I’m shoving a pair of women’s socks up my nostrils, prom.


Jinksy said...

And how long did it take for the blood to stop dripping? Have you emptied an arm or leg yet? I do hope not...

Whirlochre said...

It was a good 20 mins. Right now I feel like Christopher Lee has had his fangs in my neck — a little light-headed, and with a whoosh of phantom cape about my person.

stacy said...

Yikes! Hope that doesn't happen again. *sending cyber tissue*

Phoenix Sullivan said...

The thing I found funniest is that anyone would think 27C in Sept is hot. (That's 80F for the Celsius challenged.) It's only 10 AM and we're already well above that here in Texas - in the shade.

Are you saying most young women don't pedal away screaming when they see you sans socks stuffed up your nose? Are you sure?

Old Kitty said...

But you'd still do this if they were men's socks, right?!?! :-)

Take care

fairyhedgehog said...

I've taken the lesson to heart: no more socks up the nose for me, no sirree!

Hope the lightheadedness passes quickly and that the nosebleed was a one-off.

Whirlochre said...

It's not the kind of afternoon I'd like to reprise, certainly.

In the UK, we prefer our heatwaves moderate and eschew all dreams of leathery skin.

Old Kitty
Finding the socks was like chancing upon a rubber ring after a ferry disaster.

The lightheadedness is gone, yes. So I'm back to my turgid lumpenness.

Dicky said...

What a vision: you walking along with a pair of bloody socks stuffed up your nose. Very funny post.