A while ago, probably a couple of years, I hit Carole square in the face with a Bagpuss. It was one of those moments that you could never hope to repeat in a million years. Up to then, the best thing I had ever, ever done was bounce a Pritt Stick off the floor and get it to stick squarely to the bottom of a cupboard door. Or maybe the time at uni when I was in my room and throwing a roll of sellotape around. It managed to slide through the sellotape sized gap that the window was open and fall three storeys to the ground below. Or very nearly the ground. I was observed, by a fellow student, getting my sellotape back out of a tree.
So, I hit Carole in the face with Bagpuss. I’d done that thing when someone you know is downstairs and you’re upstairs and you call them to the bottom of the stairs as if you have something amazing to show them. But you don’t. You have something to throw at them with hilarious consequences. In this case it was a Bagpuss beanbag.
I’m not that good at throwing things. My aim is not brilliant and my throwing skills are not exactly on target. But, somehow, everything lined up perfectly and Bagpuss flew, with Grade A precision, directly into Carole’s face. And then she disappeared from sight. I genuinely do not know what happened in that instance. I may have knocked her clean off her feet, or she may have just staggered backwards clutching her face in complete shock, while the bean-filled fat, furry catpuss lay on the carpet, staring up at her, mid-yawn. The reason I don’t know is because tears were streaming from my eyes. I was laughing so much I was actually crying. I know that’s a terrible thing. I know. I don’t know how I sleep at night. But it was hilarious.
Recently, I’ve done the same with a curly-wurly.
We keep them in the fridge so they’re all cold and shatter into bite-size pieces rather than trail a string of caramel as you gnaw a bit off. Carole wanted one. I took one from the fridge and threw it into the front room. Again, the fates were there for me, and the curly-wurly crashed down on her head. It was, by all accounts, quite painful. Indeed, when she demanded that I allow her to hit me with the very same curly-wurly it was painful. But then, the driving force behind that was an angry woman and not a quite rubbish throw from me, so the results may be skewed.
Once I’d answered all the questions about why I would do such a thing, and why I would laugh at the obvious pain and suffering that my beloved Petal was going through the incident was forgotten. We moved on. Nothing else was said.
Sunday we were in a similar situation to the previous curly-wurly incident. She wanted a curly-wurly. I wanted to throw the curly-wurly. Having learnt from previous mistakes, however, I added a disclaimer stating that I couldn’t guarantee that my throw wouldn’t hit her on the noggin but that was not was I was attempting to do. She agreed to this, verbally – I didn’t have time to draw up any official documents. And so I unleashed the curly-wurly.
I missed her entirely. Not a chance it would have hit her.
Apart from the fact that Carole tried to catch it. The key word there is tried. She didn’t catch it. She deflected it. Upwards and backwards. In the general direction of her head where it came down, end first. Judging by the number of times she said “ow” it must have hurt a little bit.
Sadly, I was laughing to much to be of any help.