When we were allowed on vacation… - column

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.