Yesterday, after posting about hapless and clumsy movers in the morning.  I took some stuff to the new flat with some friends and family (thanks again, guys.)  I am pathetic in the face of anything heavier than stationery or tissues, so I emptied boxes while the others went up and down in the lift bringing stuff up into the flat.

About 45 minutes into this routine, R calls and says “One of the wine carriers broke and the bottles smashed, there is red wine everywhere.  Do you have a mop?”

As it happens I do not have a mop.  The kitchen and bathroom in the otherwise carpeted flat are not big enough to warrant a mop and bucket.  I went downstairs with a semicircular bucket and about 5 cloths.  He was right.  There was red wine all the way across the lobby, which fortunately was tiled and not carpeted. It looked like an opening scene from NCIS, all we needed was the body or chalk outline.  I started to lay down the cloths and try and mop up.  At some point the water I had taken down was full of wine so I went back up in the lift to get some fresh water.  I got upstairs, and changed the water.  I picked up the bucket to go downstairs,accidentally tipped it over and spilled hot soapy water all over my kitchen.  Arg!

I left a friend upstairs with a huge roll of kitchen paper, and went back downstairs to continue with the river of blood downstairs.  R had been holding a bottle carrier with four bottles of wine in it, and of course the two red wines broke and the two white wines just sat unscathed in the rapidly spreading pool of wine.  Without a mop, the job was taking a long time.  R volunteered to go the pound shop to get a mop.  Off he went while I spread kitchen paper around and shuffled along with the bucket, apologising to other residents who had to tiptoe around the lobby.  He comes back with a ‘supermop’ (their words not mine).  It is fluorescent orange, and had the added bonus of not fitting into the bucket we had except at an angle.  Then while I was sweeping up the glass and he was mopping, he went to adjust the handle and sliced his finger open on a rough bit of metal on it.  (Mop related injuries are the worst). The whole lobby smelled of red wine, and not in a good way;  I was feeling a little drunk on the fumes alone.  Eventually, the mess was cleared up, and we traipsed upstairs to finish up.  On the plus side, upstairs smelled lemony fresh after I had emptied a bucket of Flash liquid all over the kitchen.

So the long and the short of it is that Karma is a bitch.  I will try not to mock the movers any more as it turns out that clumsy people should not cast stones.  I have long accepted my clumsiness and try to pass it off as an endearing quality; I had also kidded myself that it was something that I had grown out of.  Stories of my clumsy exploits as a child are the stuff of legend in my family, we still have some family friends who tremble at the thought of me going over to their houses.  But as I got older, the incidences were fewer and fewer and I thought that perhaps I had left it in the past.  Yesterday was just a brief reminder that you can fake adroitness for only so long, and then the clumsy monster comes back to show you who’s boss.

So, I bow to thee karma, and will endeavour to keep stories of incompetence in others to a minimum. (Who am I kidding? All I can promise is that this is an equal opportunities forum, so I will post about them and myself in equal measure).

Have a good week.

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