I'm fifteen and my dad's just fixed my bike and I'm riding back from telling my friend I'll ride in with her tomorrow and I'm freewheeling at tremendous speed down the really good steep bit on Spilsby Hill and there's a titchy white pebble directly in my path and it's absolutely not worth breaking my lovely cruise for so I go right over it.
I'm picking my bike up and reassuring someone that I'm fine and wondering where all those people standing at their garden gates came from and I think I'll just push it the rest of the way home.
I'm in the kitchen when Mother stomps in from the shops and why didn't I tell her about my accident yesterday?
When Mother went into Clixby's to buy wool Betty was very concerned. How was Little Yellow Duckling after her accident yesterday? LYD had been badly shaken up, hadn't she? She must have had a nasty bump and was she all right now?
Mother, now revealed as Mother Who Didn't Even Know! and also Mother Who Hadn't Even Noticed!! had to ask what Betty was talking about.
It seemed that poor LYD had gone over the handlebars of her bike on Spilsby Hill, had been knocked unconscious and carried into someone's house, where she had proceeded to revive and faint all over again all over the furniture before insisting that yes she was fine thank you, collecting her bike and going home.
This of course is news to me, but explains the instant bystanders.
Mother eventually saw the funny side, but I still only know this as a story, because I only remember before and after. And why would I tell her the before, and furnish her with final proof that I was a twit without the sense to avoid a pebble when hurtling down a steep hill with no brakes? I mean!
Last year I tripped on my way to my friend's house for our morning ride into work. I went down like a ton of bricks, banging my knee and landing on my laptop, which has had a loose key and wonky space bar ever since.
Yesterday evening I was crashed out fast asleep on the sofa when my mobile rang. In my rush to answer it I tripped over my laptop cable, sending self and laptop crashing to the floor, banging my knee and damaging the power connection on the laptop. But Mme. Cyn was still there when I picked up, so it was all worth it. ;)
An hour later, Habibi asks how my head is now.
It's fine. Why?
I banged it on the table as I fell.
No, I banged my knee.
No, I banged my head on the corner of the table as I went down; he saw me.
Nah. I fell, hurt my knee, damaged my laptop and answered the phone, all without a break. I'd remember a bump on the head! He was mistaken.
This morning I was dropping things and bumping into things, (in a manner attributable to being half-asleep and longing to be fully so) but also not interested in breakfast (Huuuuuh???!!!) and aware of a vague headache that warmed up nicely as the day wore on, radiating from a softish bit I found on my head during the morning, down into my shoulder. Mild concussion: nothing that Panadol and sleep won't sort out. But Habibi was obviously right: I bumped my head. Wouldn't you think I'd have noticed that?