[Stumped]

This is another sample of my previous efforts, written following an actual incident which I did not find so amusing at the time.

Cheers . . . Stumped

Mayhem
or ‘**** Happens!’

I was cycling along in my lycra,
Oblivious to all, but FM,
When a daft dog announced it’s objections,
And caused me no end of mayhem.

Snarling and barking, the animal charged,
With much lunging and snapping of teeth,
And caught unawares, I took to the air,
To land in a desperate heap.

With skinned knees and a gravel-rashed elbow,
A sprained wrist and jarred shoulder to boot,
I watched the dog vanish from whence it appeared,
It plainly did not give a hoot!

Quite embarrassed, and shaken up badly,
I reflected a while on my plight,
Exploring my bumps and my bruises,
Which at first glance seemed ever so slight.

When you get to the plus side of sixty,
And you feel like a teenager, still,
Your aches and pains tell you your past it,
Whilst your ego lends grist to the mill.

As the tow path at Rishton was empty,
Save crestfallen me and my bike,
I took a deep breath and remounted,
Still cursing my woes and such like.

Then my efforts to pedal were blighted,
Forestalled by each turn of the crank,
Yet stubbornness helped my endeavours,
And helped put some grit in my tank.

Drained by the effort I made it back home,
Once there, I examined my scars,
The bruises and bumps I had suffered,
When I went arse o’er tit o’er the bars.

The missus tut-tutted as stiffness set in,
She ran me a steaming hot bath,
And broiled like a turkey I wallowed,
As she stood by and stifled a laugh.

So there I was stuck in the bathtub,
Rendered helpless by wrenches and sprains,
Unable to raise myself upright,
Whence my pride took a tumble again.

Try as I did, my sprained wrists prevailed,
Hence the wife launched a shrewd master plan,
‘Throw your legs o’er the side and I’ll lift you,’
She said. And I said, ‘I don’t think you can!’

Imagine the comical drama,
What a picture to tickle the mind,
My bits o’er the side of the bathtub,
The wife’s giggling a trifle unkind.

The count, ‘one - two -three,’ was the trigger,
That hurled me once more through the air,
To land in a heap with the missus,
And end my dilemma four square.

On reflection, I cannot be blameless,
For the ludicrous state of affairs,
And Classic FM contributed,
By filling my head with it's airs.

End

This incident actually happened on Tuesday, 15th May 2007, on the canal towpath at Rishton, Lancashire, where it crosses the M65 Motorway. The black & white sheepdog involved was unattended and may well have come from a nearby farm.