Autumn walk turns slippery with double tumble - Kevin Page

A casual walk started with such confidence for Kevin Page. Photo / 123rf

So, Mrs P and I have taken ourselves off out for a walk.

It has to be said, confidence is at the upper end of the scale as I continue my recuperation from hip surgery.

So much so that when we come to a large, grassed area in the middle of our mainly urban roadway walk, I suggest to Mrs P we should cut across it.

“We’ll be fine,” I said, the aforementioned confidence oozing from every pore as the sensible partner in our relationship cautioned against pushing too hard and going on uneven ground – both of which were a total “no-no” as far as my surgeon was concerned.

But, as I say, my confidence was sky high and the grass route, albeit a bit damp, looked doable.

I felt I had good reason to be in such a mood.

After all, my operation was eight weeks ago and it had been reasonably plain sailing thus far.

Anyway.

We trudge off across this open expanse to the road on the other side.

We’re basically just trying to cut off a corner from our boring concrete pathway route.

All was going well until we encountered the exit to the road on the other side.

It was down a short, slight incline. Nothing to be worried about.

Or so we thought.

The incline was maybe 2 to 3 yards in length and was covered in the fallen, golden leaves of autumn. I’m sure you can picture it.

So, treading carefully, I start to go down the slope. Unsurprisingly, and before you can say “silly old sod”, my legs come out from underneath me and down I go.

Naturally, as I headed groundward, I’m trying to lessen the impact on my new hip and managed to get half an arm down, just to take a bit of the sting out of the pain I knew was coming down the mountain for me at a fair rate of knots.

It worked. To a point.

It still hurt like the bejeezus, particularly as muscles and tendons which hadn’t been subjected to much collision action apart from against soft pillows for the past two months had now been thrust into the front line.

But it seemed fairly obvious nothing was broken. I mean, I could still roll on to my good side without too much discomfort.

Thankfully, my right-hand woman is a long-time experienced nurse and she soon leapt into action.

Or maybe that should read “fell into action”. Because that’s what she did.

At the same time as she was saying, with suitably nursey authority, “don’t move”, she was herself starting down the slippery slope to get to my side.

And you guessed it, she too went down in a heap and ended up sprawled in the golden leaves alongside me.

Now it was my turn to be concerned.

You may recall, My Beloved suffered a serious collapse a year or so ago, which has left her with a very dodgy back. And that’s putting it mildly,

“Don’t move,” I said, trying to sound suitably qualified with the knowledge of exactly what to do, as my winded beloved tried to get up.

By this stage I had managed to find enough undisturbed leg and bum muscles to get myself partially back upright – albeit covered in golden, crunchy fallen leaves, which is an okay look for an innocent 3-year-old experiencing a pile of autumn leaves for the first time but probably looks a bit stupid when it’s someone of my vintage.

Anyway.

I’m now back on my feet and offering a hand, arm, elbow... anything to help Mrs P who is sitting there with one leg twisted behind her and an expression on her face which looks equally painful.

“Don’t touch me,” she barks as I go to lift her up. I try again, thinking even though she delivered her statement with such conviction, she didn’t really mean it. Did she?

Apparently so.

My second attempt to help her to her feet was met similarly, though with a little more steel thrown into the vocabulary. So I backed away.

Eventually, she made it to her feet and we both stood there. Covered in leaves, a bit bewildered, muddied and a bit wet.

From across the road, a bloke came running to assist.

He’d been in his lounge watching telly and saw the entire episode unfold out the window before his eyes.

Obviously, we thanked him for his concern but assured him we were fine.

A little bashed about but no major dents anywhere and okay to hobble the short distance back to our car.

He left us with a cheery farewell and a thank you for providing some entertainment that afternoon.

Apparently, there’d been nothing good on telly so he welcomed the distraction.