The Battle Of Blum

I have just emerged from what some might say is a terrifying ordeal. A battle of strength, a battle of wills and a battle of wits.

Having just emerged from the ninth level of hell, my blood pressure is up and my heart is pumping. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins like that of a Klingon on PCP.

This took place in my new kitchen. After a hard day’s toil in the office*

With a poorly ankle in need of medication, I hobbled slowly over the newly tiled floor (did I mention the new kitchen?) and reached into the medicine cabinet for the Diclofenac and the Codeine. Don’t worry, the JD was already set out on the side.

Then disaster. The one true tablet abandoned me.

The little orange pill left my hand and headed towards the floor covering in slow motion. I reached once, twice and three times to no avail to catch the errant anti inflammatory.

It bounced and hit the ceramic tiles and bounced again before rolling serenely and silently along the perfectly smooth grout. Now out of sight, it disappeared somewhere under the lip of the base of the cupboard (the one adjacent to the sink unit in my new kitchen).

But then, a small spark of hope in a cause more lost than a hobbit in Mordor. A tiny pinprick (not my pupils, the codeine is still in the box on the side) of light in an otherwise bleakest of settings.

Like the One Ring, my tiny orange disc of preciousness miraculously returned to me. I could feel it taunting me, daring me to try to win it back. Having struck the plinth (in the old kitchen, it would have been lost forever – there were no plinths in the old kitchen), it had rolled back into view. The dark became light and the mists of sadness** receded as my 50mg of wholesome loveliness came to rest, face up, within my very grasp.

As I reached out to be reunited with my perfect little life partner, a creature that can only be described as a much larger relative of Shelob burst from it’s hiding place in the shadows at lightning speed, desperate to claim this tablet as it’s own.

Fear of a death bite from this aggressive arachnid made me move with the reflexes of a Puff Adder on steroids***. Withdrawing my hand whilst so painfully close to recovering my lost treasure was one of the most heartrending experiences of my life.

On this day, I was to overcome my fear and victory was to be mine. Despite this eight legged despot laying at least two legs on Mr D (and, I believe, giving me the finger with one of it’s other appendages) I once again reached for the prize and was, on this occasion, successful.

Swollen ankle aside and all pain momentarily forgotten, I pirouetted a victory jig with the grace and panache of a dancer in the Russian Ballet. Shelob had clearly (and very wisely) thought better of taking me on where my drugs are concerned. Which is a shame, because the bastard will need more than an anti-inflammatory if our paths cross again.

The morals of this story are clear :

  1. Plinths serve a useful purpose in preventing good stuff rolling out of your life
  2. I am still scared of spiders


*A hard day’s toil in the office amounted to 10 minutes work at the computer followed by a walk to Olivers for a bacon and brie toastie followed by a cup of tea, a chat, a bit more work, more tea, more chat, more tea, yet more tea and some messing around on AutoCAD all rounded off by finishing a miserable 2nd to the MD in a race to the jam doughnuts. Still, you have to make a living, right?


**One small sob elicited from my mouth at the time of the incident but I didn’t have time to unleash proper tears.


***The effect of steroids on Puff Adders is unclear. However, you can find out more about this breed of serpent right here :

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