Don't worry about the scary-faced guy on the left, that's just me thinking as I type.
August 16th was a day like any other to start with. Up at some stupid time of the morning, plug a bottle of milk into eight month old Katie, wander down the stairs to find food for three year old Richard, make cuppa for wife and myself, go get cleaned up, iron clothes, kiss everyone goodbye and head off to work in Liverpool.
Same as August 15th really.
Today was just one of those days though. The bottom end of the M58 was clogged due to a minor collision in lane 1, so the run onto Switch Island and the M57 and Dunningbridge Road interchange was all snarled up. Have a smoke, put music on full blast and curse all plonkers who try and change lanes in front of a forty tonne truck.
Twats!
The fifteen minute delay now has a knock-on effect as all the other commuters I was trying to avoid have now all caught up with me.
Bastards!
A forty minute commute has now run into an hour and twenty minutes and my first meeting of the morning is in the shitter. I Stagger into the office, grab coffee, catch phone and my day is off.
Lunchtime and I am merely 20 minutes behind where I expected to be at this point. Good... I think. I reckon if I pare lunch down to a quick sandwich and a can of pop I can get to that Secured by Design meeting in Runcorn with the Residents Association to talk about security issues and muggings at the local shopping center. Butty and a can it is then.
So, I am now on the way out of Liverpool City center, heading South to the River and the Runcorn Bridge. The sky is blue, the air is warm, Radio City is playing some stuff from the eighties and I am driving slow as I am about 20 minutes ahead of my schedule for the day now.
I've opened up the sunroof, all the windows in the car are down and my thoughts have turned to my family. I'm 29, a young dad with a good looking wife and fine looking pair of kids... does life get any better when you also have a career and prospects? The road I am travelling on is light for traffic, but those sodding thirty miles per hour signs are everywhere and the twonk in the red van in front of me is only doing 25. Bugger it.
We pull up at a pedestrian crossing and I have moved into the right hand lane to overtake dozy-drawers in the red van. I remember that just before I moved over, I had seen a young girl with a pram standing at the crossing, so she must be on my left out of view past the van. Where did she go?
Curious, I push forward in my seat and lean over the steering wheel to my left for a better view of the crossing.
Bang!
Somethings not quite right now.
I can see a slow moving glass object bouncing down the road in front of me, shattering, scintillating in the sunlight as it twists, tumbles and disintegrates.
Blackness.
'Are you alright'?
Sorry, who's that. Who are they talking to. Who's in trouble?
I wake up to find an ambulance driver stood next to my car. He's asking me if I am alright, can I move, where does it hurt. I can only look at him in stupid bemusement.
What the fuck happened?
Apparently, some soft old sod drove into the back of me at over forty miles per hour whilst I was static at a set of traffic lights. He didn't see me, didn't see the lights, never had an accident before in his life and on a clear, sunny afternoon in August, he ran into me.
Fuck... there goes the schedule!
So, I get carted off in an ambulance to the Royal Liverpool University Hospital... blue lights an all. I am introduced to the Casualty Department, or the ER as they call them now and subjected top prods, pokes, questions and x-rays.
'Where does it hurt' I am asked.
'Everywhere' I reply.
So, after 6 hours of investigations, various tests and a finger up my arse to check everything is okay, I am told the following, 'You haven't broken your neck and you can go home now'.
Good, but what was the finger up my arse for?
Fukkit... I am off home!
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