On the 2nd May 2011, after almost a decade of looking, the United States finally managed to track down and terminate their number one Most Wanted terrorist Osama Bin Laden. On a more personal note, another major historical event which was scheduled to happen in May was my good friend Cheryl Cole was turning 21. To celebrate this momentous occasion, she had rented out a penthouse apartment in the City Centre for a one hell of a party. I have been friends with Ms Cole since she was 15 and so have attended many similar celebrations, for instance, for her 16th birthday we went to Laser Quest in a kids play area, so to be honest a “normal” party in a penthouse was a bit of a let down after that. Anyway I decided to get past the fact that Miss Cole opted for a more grown up shindig and attempted to drag Paul and Jane (that’s what I have named my sticks) and myself there.
Now when you walk with two walking sticks, you start to become very self conscious. This is due to the fact that the general population of the world like to stare at things that are not classed as “Normal”, Whether that be people with two heads, people with two sticks or people who are just fortunate to live in Glasgow and not look like they are a junkie or have had a hard life. So as I was going to have my first ever moment where I walked into a room and everybody stopped and stared, I thought I better be looking my best for it. I decided the best way to go about this was to make sure I looked healthy. I have learned that when you resemble a corpse, the most favourable way to do this is to get yourself a tan. However, as I live and Scotland and we have about 1 hour of Sun a year I decided that instead of booking a holiday to the sun that I couldn’t afford I would get that golden brown sun kissed look by faking it.
3 days before the party I started my “Fake Healthy look” ritual. That way if my tanning took a turn for the worst it still gave me sufficient time to fix it, but more likely, I could add another layer if needed whilst still keep it looking natural instead of turning out like an Oompa Lumpa. I got in the bath and I am like “right I need to shave the legs before I do the tan”. If being in the hospital has taught me anything it’s that gorilla legs are not sexy and that you could bump into the next Steppenhaal at any time. Now as you can probably imagine shaving your legs when they aren’t working properly is bloody hard, so I paused for a minute and thought long and hard about what would be the best way to do this. Eventually my thought process took me to lifting my leg out the bath, propping myself up with one arm and my head and using my razor in my spare hand. With great difficulty and a hell of a lot of time, I managed to get the 1st leg done (Yes, I know I should have just got them waxed but hindsight is wonderful thing). Thinking I was on a roll I decided to use the same technique on the 2nd leg which I thought went and took a bit less time, until I realised upon closer inspection that I had actually missed an area the size of a small country around my ankle. So again, I propped myself up with one arm and my head and with my razor in the other I went to shave “Congo”. However, something went wrong. What the exact cause was is still being investigate but what we do know is that I somehow slipped in the bath, causing my head to fall upon my leg, the razor to dig deep into the heart of the “Congo” rainforest and take a massive chunk of skin out my leg. It’s as if the bath is not designed to allow you to prop yourself up using your head. I am not joking when I say that the blood squirting out was like a scene from ER. I expected George Clooney to run in at any moment to stitch me up or suggest amputation. Unfortunately he didn’t.
If that wasn’t enough I then had to struggle to get out the bath with my dodgy legs and blood going everywhere; all over the bath mat, the walls, the bath, the towels and I don’t know how but also in the toilet. It was like a scene from Saw 1 or Saw 2 or 3 or 3901 but this time there was no little mean clown man that made me do it as punishment for the way I was living my life or an ability to get a key so I could escape. Most people at this point would have given up but I felt I had gone to too much effort already to pack it in without getting my tan and faking the healthy look. I then tied a towel around my ankle, put the pain to one side and with shitty legs and blood dripping through the towel and onto the floor, I continued on my missions to be tanned. Again without the use of ones legs, putting fake tan on is bloody hard but I kept my mind focused and 1 hr 20 minutes later I finally emerged from the bathroom feeling like I had just ran a marathon and looking as if I had changed ethnicity. Now not only was there blood everywhere but there is also fake tan. Just as well Demi enjoys cleaning.
After my epic beauty session I was exhausted so I took to my bed and spent the rest of the night dreaming of a world were I could fly and Lucozade was classed as a healthy drink. When I awoke in the morning to realise that it was all just a dream, disappointment took over but I thought don’t worry Sam we have a party to go to and have semi-successfully managed to look healthy. Then as I tried to move, I felt a searing pain shoot up my arm, through my neck and down my back. When I tried to put any weight on my arm to enable me to stand up, the pain grew in severity to the point were I considered calling up Mr Clooney and asking him to remove my arm this time instead of my razor slashed leg. As I have stated about a million times before, my legs are shit, which means I rely on my arms to take most of my weight and with the aide of Paul and Jane, get me from A to B. So when one of my arms causes me crippling pain any time I try to put weight on it, I am as screwed as Heather Mills would be if Sir Paul paid someone to steal her peg leg and then beat her good leg to a pulp with it. This injury may have been a product of my ingenious way of shaving my legs but I feel I may have done it in my sleep while I believed I could fly, after all I did wake up in a Superman style pose. Either way, I still had two days left before the party, plenty of time for my arm to sort itself out, or so I thought. The morning of the party came and unfortunately went as the arm was no better. This meant that whilst, anyone who was anyone, got their place in the history books at Miss Cole’s 21st, I was in my house having a few choice words with the big man upstairs. I can distinctly remember what I said, “Excuse me God, I don’t really know what your deal is here but to be honest I think you need to cut me some slack. First the M.E, then my legs and now you steal my place in the history books by buggering up my arm. You seriously better have a lottery win in store for me, and I don’t mean the UK lottery, I am talking Euro Millions here. I want to get myself one of those Islands like Richard Branson, so I am gonna need at least 16 million.”
A couple of days later my arm went back to normal. I am still waiting for my lottery win though.