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Sunday, November 05, 2006

it's all fun and games until... OR a fete worse than...

It's school fete season in Canberra; every weekend there's at least three somewhere close by. Over the past few weeks I've found some great books and the occasional piece of clothing, bought a toy or two and eaten my body weight in sausages and bread.

Today we dropped into the Orana Spring Fair, which is the local Steiner school. Lots of felted craft, meaningful activities for the kids and a pretty good book stall. At one point we were standing next to the Lucky Dip talking to some friends we hadn't seen for a while, when

WHACK!!!

and I felt a burst of pain in my face. My glasses fell off to the ground and I was totally disorientated for a few moments.

Some little f*cker had popped around the corner and hurled a very hard green apricot at my face! It scraped my temple, hit the side of my glasses and split, leaving a slight sticky residue on the glass, and forced my glasses onto the side of my nose, cutting and bruising it with the nose-rests.

It hurt. It hurt A LOT, and I'm usually quite stoic about pain, but I decided to ham it up a fair bit to really scare whoever it was that hit me, so I held my face and swore and moaned and gave some load groans for a while, then stumbled off to the first aid room. Once through the door I sat calmly down and let the First Aid officer offer me a polo clean me up while we nattered on about which little shit might have done this devious act. She fully approved of my public dramatics, but I think it worried the Events Manager, who hovered concernedly, obviously hoping I wasn't going to sue.

When the First Aid Officer filled out her paperwork so that I could sue down the track if I needed further medical attention, she described the incident as a RANDOM FLY-BY FRUITING. Oh, how we roared.

It still hurts. I have a swollen and grazed nose-bridge, and my glasses are worse for wear after bending them back into shape. The suspect is a year-four Orana student, and I was the second person they hit (the first was hit in the arm) but we didn't hang about to see any consequences. I really hope there are some, because I was damn lucky not to lose an eye or break my nose.

To cheer myself up, on the way home we visited the RSPCA and gave all the cats a prison visit. We found one that could have been Pooter & Padge's mother, 7 years old and the spitting image of them. Gosh it was hard to leave her there!

9 comments:

Mummy/Crit said...

Interesting isn't it, that the Steiner school system still has it share of little shits. Some of the nicest teenage boys I have ever met have come out of that system, but when you visit the schools, you still get to see the unpleasant side....

Kate said...

What a little shit.

lucy tartan said...

Visiting cats in jail is one way of cheering yourself up that I hadn't previously considered.

Ampersand Duck said...

It's problematic because while you see marvellous cats, you have to leave them to their fate.

Ron said...

I couldn't sleep again if I visited those poor dogs and cats potentially on death row.

Slithy Toad said...

Me neither. But I could cheer myself by envisaging the random fly-by fruiter behind bars.

worldpeace and a speedboat said...

oooh noooo I couldn't do the gaol visit. it's hard enough going there to choose just one to take home, let alone go there knowing you won't be saving one :(


and I hope the little sh!t got caught eventually!

my mum was going to send me to a Steiner. I'm not sure if I'm glad she didn't, or not. two children who would have been my classmates used to catch my bus home in high school, and they were both dreamy hippy kids with sweet manners and no clue whatsoever. how did the survive the real world eventually? I have no idea...

mind you, that was a while back now. I'm sure there's plenty of street-smart little twonks in the Steiner system now.

Enny said...

... Steiner?

genevieve said...

Cut his parents some slack, at least they tried. Young Rimbaud would be rebelling wherever he was ( and yes, the spelling is intentional - how many of us know that Arthur Rimbaud spent his post poetry years running guns?)