The Accident Prone Lord Beestonia.

Sorry my fellow Beestonians. Things have been a bit difficult  lately preventing me from writing. Its an oft repeated thing, my excuses, but this ones a doozy. I managed to throw myself headfirst off my bike, forget the fact that arms are great things to use to break falls, and opted instead to use my face. Happily, I did this in front of two passing policemen, who got an ambulance, the members of which diagnosed a broken nose, a chin with  massively bleeding hole in it, knackered knuckles and an absence of front teeth. And side teeth. My molars stood alone, like ancient monuments of a once splendid structure, a dental Stone Henge. I swallowed three of the teeth in the impact, and not wanting to be too graphic, such a pain is a pain that keeps on giving.

Weeks of dentist chairs, agony, self-administered physiotherapy got me well, if not better than before. Then showing off in front of my housemates one wine-ridden night out, about how far I could put my feet  from each other (an unbeatable 180 degrees) rendered my right foot unusable for some time.  I have been in the wars, indeed. Not massive wars, I didnt nearly die, but little ones, Boer , Crimean, Korean.

So where have we been? Beeston makes BBC news with some stabbing madness. I was actually part of this, accidentally. Investigating the *new* Crown Inn, I sat with some friends outside to accommodate their nicotine habit, when a scrawny lad came running through the carpark, breathless, and scared. He ran, much to our bemusement , behind our table, and just as I was saying ‘What the Dickens…?’ four other, more substantially built hoodies flew over the car-park wall and started beating him up, imploring thuggishly ‘Why ja stab Westahh??’ as they punched and kicked him before he could answer.

Now, I didn’t really like the Death Wish films, and Dirty Harry leaves me morally itchy, so I don’t too much take to  vigilantism. I’m also a quite placid individual, who, after seeing much violence in the past (trufact: I was the ‘attempted murdee’ in an attempted murder case once…the acussed fled the country before trial however). Still, due process, and I tried to explain this, as one best can after a few pints of the Crown’s new, and rather fantastic offerings of cider, yet this isn’t easy.

I grab one lad, who is still waiting his turn to wade in, and point out that waiting for the appropriate authorities is possibly the best option. He doesn’t see this as a valid point, and to show his disapproval of my theorem, swings a near empty bottle of brandy in my face. I remember, in slow motion, thinking as I lent back from the arc of the bottles swing, ‘ooh, Courvoisier, costly’. Who wouldn’t rather be smacked in the face with  a quality beverage than a two litre of White Lightning? Well, I suppose you could argue that White  Lightning is sold in plastic not glass, but you get he point.

So I ran into the Crown, to alert them to the situation, but its recent gentrification had a weird effect, and I got in the queue for a second before I realised  that I had liberty to shout ‘FIGHT!!!’ , a rare treat.

People were chased 0ff, and in the aftermath i was noticed that a friend, a lovely placid lady, had been punched by one of the Charles Bronsonesue vigilantes. Now thats not right. Even if you’ve been witness to a stabbing, don’t punch out randomly . Sort of ruins your grievance.

So I’m now ok, and will be back to distilling Beeston’s oddness into  blog post with an inconsistence frequency, as did when I owned real incisors and canines.

Love you all, but not in a dirty way, Matt, First Lord of Beestonia.