First Aid administered by dead sea creatures

My wife and I went to dinner in Noosa the other night with her parents – let’s call them Jim and Jane. Jim and Jane’s friends, Brian and Bron, came along. The restaurant on Thomas Street had a funky atmosphere, and the conversation warmed up as our dishes were brought out.

Bron excused herself to visit the bathroom. We talked for another quarter of an hour, until Jane asked, ‘Where’s Bron?’
The young restaurant owner walked over to our table. ‘Brian, could I have a talk with you outside?’
‘Oh dear, this sounds bad?’ asked Brian as he stood up.
‘Nothing too serious,’ replied the owner.
It turned out that Bron had missed a step outside and fallen, hitting her face and right elbow. Brian looked flustered and Bron looked pale and bruised.
‘I’ll take Bron and Brian home, and you three go and get some ice cream,’ said Jane, grabbing Bron’s right elbow to guide support her.
‘Ow, Arhhhhh’ shrieked Bron. ‘That’s my sore arm!’
If you’ve read my book, ‘a few Drops short of a Pint’, you may have noticed that my lovely wife could sometimes be erratic and unpredictable. It was clear which parent she’d inherited those traits from.

The remaining three of us arrived later at the holiday unit her parents were renting, to be confronted by the locked foyer door. Jim tried to call Jane on the phone. ‘She’s not answering.’
The ice creams started to drip. Jim tried calling again, unsuccessfully. Then his phone rang. ‘We’re down here with the ice cream and we can’t get in, because you’ve got the key. Can you come down and let us in?’ he answered.
Jane bounded down the steps to open the foyer door. We walked back up to the entry door of their unit.
‘Do you have a key?’ asked Jim.
‘Er no – I left it somewhere inside,’ replied Jane, unapologetically, as she knocked on the door. ‘Bron’s having a bath and is upset. I think Brian’s in the bathroom trying to calm her down.’
The ice creams had become soft, dripping on the floor.
‘Oh this is just great,’ muttered Jim, as Jane banged on the door again.
‘I’ve been busy,’ defended Jane. ‘I looked in the freezer for some ice for Bron’s bruises, but couldn’t find any. I had to offer them a bag of frozen prawn heads or a plastic carton of ice cream.

I’m not surprised that Bron declined both choices. She may have felt embarrassed about her fall, but it probably paled in significance to the idea of holding a bag of dead spiky prawns against her face.

Well, we’re off to England and Scotland for three weeks, to attend our friends’ wedding and hopefully get some ideas for my second book. I’ll try to post a couple of updates along the way.

Cheers
Chris

Comments

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