After four hundred kilometers through the rain you are at least happy, no matter how good modern motorcycle clothing is. At our gite, the rainwater ran down the stony driveway like a brave mountain stream. We rode upstream and put our horses in the stable. The real horse that was apparently also hiding there from the rain looked at the whole thing suspiciously.
We undressed as much as was appropriate and greeted the lady of the castle who waded over to us. Our shelter was well laid out and we drew straws to look like who could shower first. The wall-mounted boiler was impressive, but the idea was that the loser would end up under cold water anyway. The winner went upstairs happily. After a while there was a huge thump and then a scream. So we went upstairs to have a look.
Our hot water winner apparently stepped on a super-smooth anti-slip mat when exiting the shower cubicle and slumped. Ah, that was that blow. Cora repairs people in daily life and completed an apparently standard questionnaire. She concluded, “Broken or nosed ribs. Painful, but not bad. ” The victim only partially agreed. Then we were allowed by Cora's authority to lift the dripping corpse and put it on the bed. Time for consultation. And a drink.
The first important conclusion was that the next bather should get out of the shower cubicle more carefully. Plan two was to see if we could get our victim mobile again. Not within a week or two, but 'ASAP'. Our lady of the castle was informed about the state of affairs and was appropriately shocked.
But her uncle was the local pharmacist, and she would call him right away. A little later a dented large Peugeot stopped in front of the building. Out of it stepped a thin, gray-haired man whose milky-white legs protruded from under a purple robe. Uncle had been in a hurry. He pressed, patted, palpated and asked. And disappeared again with flapping coats. He was back an hour later. Dressed better than before. The apparently homemade painkillers were in a gelatin casing and had the shape and size of small boxes of shoe polish. The traditional suppositories looked as if they were made for an adult ox.
The idea was: now two pills, a mega-pill before going to sleep, a pill in the morning, a pill in the morning, and another insert before sleeping. The next afternoon, our victim had turned into a dynamic, enterprising superman. We decided to quit the business and go home. That went without a hitch. When the pills ran out, there was a serious backlash.
By the way, Cora had withheld a pill to have analyzed at work. Out of professional interest. The medication turned out to be strong enough for any recently deceased to win the triathlon. Handy such an uncle in the family.
What a wonderful description, just not a muscle sore from laughing!
Haha the story about the “shower slider”. I don't realize it right away, but immediately a film about this is played in my “skull cinema”. Awesome!! thanks!!
Nice that article about the Ami 6!
I myself own an Ami Berline from 1969, once sold in the Netherlands.
AMK wrote in the January 2019 issue about a 'Unique barn find XXL in the Netherlands. Pages 50 and 51. On the latter page is my heap of sadness after 28 years of storage.
In no.5 of 2019 I wrote in response to this article under the heading: 'Klassiekerpost' on page 82/83.
I can now report that the refurbishment / restoration is already well advanced. Not 'Verkeerd afgelopen'
The medication turned out to be strong enough for any recently deceased to win the triathlon.
After 43 years of working in healthcare, such a sentence still manages to bring tears to my eyes with laughter.
After examination, there were enough opiates in it to make you win a marathon on the stumps of your recently severed legs. That was not pain relief, that was relief
Better a jackpot than a "jackpot" ...
Every time I read your pieces I can throw away the anti-depressant now just get the shot and I can take it again, thank you
Add a cigar and a glass of whiskey. These are almost homeopathic anti depressants. I'll send you a repeat prescription. In work text. Then you can get the game multiples out yourself. And that makes you happy again. Flip kewl
I laughed out loud Dolf.
Even though I know what broken and bruised ribs are.
Better have the first, get rid of it faster ...
Better broken ribs than a broken heart. And what's really mean: people who deliberately make you laugh when you have bruised ribs
I know Dolf, it happened to me.
The bitch had the greatest fun in it himself ..
Tears ran down her cheeks, with laughter and pain ..
What a really cool story again!
Without any loss of norm awareness about the pain of broken and bruised ribs, a more than smile could not be suppressed.
Beautifully worded !!!
And as pain connoisseurs we laugh about it!