Yesterday I innocently went to put the bin out.
Opened the garage door, wheeled the bin to the pavement.
Came back and pulled the garage door closed and the tension wires snapped.
Garage door now across my shoulders making me feel like Samson stealing the Gates of Gaza.
How to tell Sheila who is at the other end of the house with doors shut, probably with the hoover on.
Neighbour in a hurry mistook my weight-lifting exploits for knowledgeable enterprising can do.
Before I can tell her to ring our bell, she's in the car and waving cheerio.
Can see she's well impressed that I'm repairing the door myself while holding it up.
Tried quoting the Bible, "Lift your heads, you gates. Be lifted you ancient doors."
Didn't work. Decided not to try the musical version, Ye gates lift up your heads on high.
By an improvised contortionist act I can just about reach the step ladders with one leg.
Means standing on one leg still holding up the door.
The leg in question is the recently referred to leg with the torn corpuscnesium.
Like those films of prisoners stretching to reach the keys beyond the bars, the extended leg slowly inches towards the step ladders, not quite reaching.
Just one toe-length more..but to misquote the Sermon on the Mount "who by worrying can add one inch to their leg length"?
Well me actually!
Using legs, arms, back, and a number of neologisms and alternative linguistic apellations for doors and ladders, the ladders are maneouvred into position.
Minutes later, traumatised but triumphant the garage doors are propped up.
Later the repair man came, rewired it and re-set the spring.
I watched him do it so that next time…..
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