I had a wonderful day yesterday shopping with the mother in law! Not a statement you are likely to hear very often I know, particularly when the arch nemesis of the house husband is traditionally the m.i.l. It is just one of a number of occurrence's that have happened over the last week in the twilight world of the semi-house husband that have left me realising mine is not a normal existence. I say semi-house husband because I feel I have been operating under false pretences. 'A' has been off work and the m.i.l has been here so my position has been temporarily redundant. I kissed the boy's goodbye last Thursday and agreed to see them again tomorrow, then handed them over to Grandma after first making her promise not to mess up my routine.
Relieved temporarily of my usual duties I find myself gradually slipping back into "lazy dad" mode. You know the one I am talking about, where us dad's pretend we are listening to the check list of stuff we need before we go out but are really wondering if Xabi Alonso has signed for another club over night, or if Glen Johnson's signing will make a significant difference and.......... wow I have never noticed that picture on that wall............ sorry, yes dear I have got it. This is the mode that makes us present, in all but spirit and end's up with a bollocking because an hour ago you said "yes" when the wife asked if you had the changing bag but what you really meant was "I am not listening, I am in lazy dad mode"! I have impressed myself at the speed at which I have managed to switch back into it but am secretly relishing the idea of getting my old job back.
At this juncture I feel it would be appropriate to try and put some meat on the bones of the title of today's blog. I have been involved in my first crash! It was bound to happen. Believing that I could just jump on my bike and ride around the lawlessness of Delhi's highway's, with no repercussion's was clearly insane. I had cycled to the shop to pick up some beer and was sweating my way back when the incident occurred. I was coming up to a t-junction to turn left and in true Indian tradition went to pull out without stopping to look. Unfortunately the rick in front of me had other idea's and elected to slap on the brakes. I managed to skid to a halt but the guy on the motorbike behind me wasn't so lucky.
All I heard was a screech and a crash closely followed by a baying mob shouting and screaming. The rickshaw hit the gas and disappeared in a cloud of dust while I stood there panicking. In India crashes are generally not settled as amicably as back in Blighty. They don't wander round each other's vehicles surveying the damage, while speaking on their phones and asking Churchill to sort them out a hire car. The baying mob usually makes a snap decision who is to blame then kick the living shit out of them before the police turn up!
It was with this in mind that I alighted my cycle and threw my arms in the air gesticulating to the mob that it was all the rickshaw drivers fault and not the little defenceless Westerner. It seemed to have the desired affect and the mob turned their attention's to the rick and it's getaway before calming down when the smell of blood disappeared. In the meantime I had approached the poor biker to find him lying on the floor with the bike squashing his leg. He was an elderly gentleman who seemed to be taking it all rather well. The mob returned and together we helped him to his feet and I began dusting him down and trying to explain how it wasn't my fault and please don't get this lot to kick my teeth in. It was while doing this that the man started to insist he was ok and that it was all no problem while pushing away my attempts at dusting down his shirt, so I turned my attentions to his trousers. I came across no objections to this and then realised why. My hand was no longer brushing against cloth and flesh but something harder, something less malleable, something... something... wooden. The penny dropped and I now realised why he had not been writhing around on the floor in pain. The bike had landed on his leg of mighty oak and probably done more damage to the petrol tank than him. With things's seemingly ok the mob dispersed along with my fear of a shoeing. The sense of relief was overwhelming! It surely couldn't be any better, I had been saved from a kicking by a wooden leg!
With lady luck firmly on my side and a skip in my step I - excuse the pun - hopped back on my cycle with a feeling of immortality and rode off in to the sunset. This is how it seems to be for me at the moment. Successful shopping trips with the m.i.l, being saved by a wooden leg, made redundant -all highly irregular occurrences I'm sure you will agree but all combining nicely to keep a smile on my face. Surely nothing can wipe it off in this fabulous city. Can it?
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