I may have mentioned that I’m okay at swimming once or twice. In the pool my body seems to know what it’s doing. On dry land though, I’m like a, well, fish out of water. To put it mildly, I’m clumsy. That’s another foible to add to the chronic absent mindedness that resulted in me locking my keys in my car.
A searing (in more than one way) example was Wednesday night. One minute I was sitting there, nursing a full cup beloved tea. The next, said drink- all of it – was in my lap. Boiling hot. Steaming.
How can someone manage not to lift a cup to his lips and sip it error free? Who the hell knows. I don’t. All I know is that I can swim like a dream, I can hit a tennis serve well and my footwork is pretty good too – but in the everyday need to get about, I’m a physical moron.
This latest episode resulted in yelp of agony as my man bits realised they were being doused on boiling fluid. Those bit are very personal, but I can say they were, ahem, tender.
Mock me at your leisure. I deserve it.
NORTHERN PLANNER 
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