The Lost Codger

The last few days have been really hot here in the UK. The heat has been so unbearable and sometimes it’s worse in the evenings. Due to this, I have been somewhat lacking in sleep. Going to bed without anything on seems to help a bit, but not much.

The doorbell woke me up this morning, which only meant one thing; the postman had a parcel for me to sign for, otherwise he normally wouldn’t bother.

I live in a three-storey flat. The main entrance is on the ground floor, my kitchen and living room on the first, and my bedroom on the second.

Now still being in bed, I have two options: I can ignore the postman, stay in bed and schedule a re-delivery with the post office. OR, I could get up, put some pants on, fumble all the way down to the ground floor and sign for my parcel.

With some unknown powers that be, I decided to do the latter. I realised the postman wasn’t going to wait all eternity for me to come down and open the door. So there I was, half-awake, with only one eye opened, reaching around frantically for my clothes. With a bit of luck, I manage to find my briefs… and… nothing else.

The postman rang the doorbell again. It’s standard procedure to ring the doorbell a second time before moving on to the next premises. I knew this and thought I’d better get myself down there pronto.

The problem was, I was still half-dazed…. and half-naked.

“Perhaps the postman won’t mind”, I thought to myself. Mampuslah.

So I quickly went down two flights of stairs like a drunken Irish, grabbed my house keys and waddled my way right up to my front door. Through the glass window, I could see a blurred image of a person in a blue shirt i.e. standard postman uniform.

“Yup, that’s definitely the postman”, I reassured myself.

I was scratching my chest as I opened the door, with both my eyes still squinting as they were still not adjusted to the morning sunlight.

“Good morning, could I have your signature on line four and five please,”

That didn’t sound right. The voice seemed a tad higher-pitched than usual. It then occurred to me that it wasn’t the postman. Nope. It was a postwoman (what else do you call a female postman?).

Realising the door was wide open and I was just in my briefs in the presence of a woman, I quickly hid myself behind the door, only exposing my head.

“Err.. good morning. Which lines again?”, I queried as I grabbed the pen and consignment papers from her.

“Four and five…”, her eyes suddenly became larger for some odd reason.

So I put down my John Hancock and hastily returned the pen and papers back to her. She slowly handed me my parcel. For some reason her face seemed a bit flushed. I wonder why.

“Have a good day sir”, she smiled sheepishly and went on her way, before I could even reply.

As I closed the door and went back into my flat, I just realised one thing; when I was hiding behind the door, my chest was pressed against the glass window.

She must have had an eyeful.

I hope that made her day.

Bleh.

So for some bizzare reason I was wide awake at 7:00am this morning. As much as I would have loved to stay longer in bed, I just couldn’t, so I got up.

Like many other net-savvy yuppy (I’m sure), I went to check my email first before anything else, and that includes washing my face, or brushing my teeth for that matter. A brief glance at my inbox revealed a couple of emails from potential bidders on eBay, in relation to some items I put up for auction. How exciting. Those can wait.

In my pathetic attempt to get fit for summer, I decided to go out for a jog. I always preferred to jog in the evenings when it’s darker; lesser people to stare at my bulging err.. muscles. Hehe. However, seeing as it’s almost summer and still very bright even after 8:00pm, more people are loitering the park in the evenings now, wanting to make full use of the daylight. So I thought perhaps it would be empty first thing on a Sunday morning.

I put on my track bottoms and made my way. Sure enough, it was deserted. There was not a single person in sight. I guess who would be in their right minds be up this early on a Sunday morning right? Even some of the ducks were still asleep by the pond.

*puff* *puff* *puff*

Twenty seconds into my sad-excuse for jog and I was already gasping for air. My stomach was beginning to feel a bit.. err.. uneasy.

Let’s go back to what I mentioned earlier. Now I’m sure everybody has their own daily routine as soon as they got out of bed. Some might get down and do some crunches before taking their shower, some might skip shower altogether and get on with breakfast, some might even skip everything and put on their clothes to start the day. What I’m trying to say is that everybody has their own thing for getting up in the morning, and that includes when they err.. ‘do their business’.

Me, well I like to do mine in the morning. And that thought suddenly came rushing to my head as I was jogging down this narrow secluded path back in the park.

“Ugh..”, I thought to myself.

I could feel some greatly increasing pressure in my bowels, causing an increased amount of gasses that was trying to escape. I continued to jog a bit slower as I was feeling restless.

I took a quick 360-degree-turn to see if anyone was nearby, in a fashion similar to an olympic figure skater and thought to myself, “It’s now or never!” and let out a disgustingly loud and rather long trumpet fart.

*PHLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRPPPPPP*

Ohhh the strong sense of relief and satisfaction after letting go of what has been held in was most… enlightening.

With a very wide grin on my face, I felt rather pleased with myself…

…that is until a lady jogger, from out of nowhere, overtook me, with one hand covering her nose.

Shit.