Your Help Needed
It is a little known fact that literally tens of out of work actors suffer from a debilitating condition called Severe Overdramatic Death Syndrome, or SODS. Sufferers of this cruel affliction are compelled to enact outrageous scenes of their own demise in the most unfortunate of circumstances.
And it’s the families of sufferers who need our support. Like Julie, whose husband Tony has not worked since he was wiped out by a plane crash in Emmerdale. Julie weeps as she remembers their daughter’s wedding last year. “It was all going so well. Then the vicar asked if anyone had any good reason why they should not be married....Tony jumped up, screaming and clutching his chest, staggered to the front and collapsed over the altar. Then he just got up, took a bow, and with a big grin went back to his seat. “ Sufferers like Tony have a certain amount of control, and can lead a reasonably normal life, able to resist the urge to keel over in all but the most inappropriate environments – weddings, funerals, job interviews and the like. Tony is one of the lucky SODS.
Others, like Amanda, are known as useless SODS. They have little or no control over their desire to expire at almost every opportunity. Amanda died four gruesome deaths yesterday. The most embarrassing involved rolling around her local Morrisons fish counter, being attacked by a killer mackerel. Then at lunch, she couldn’t help but choke violently on her egg Mcmuffin, spewing it over horrified onlookers before staggering to the front of the restaurant for a grand finale, sliding down the window into a crumpled heap on the floor.
Your donation can make a big difference, and help these poor SODS.
Call now to donate, before it’s too late. 0800 777 111.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
the one that nearly got away
When I think about it now, I should have been prepared for this mini-crisis. I had, after all, heard numerous tales from family members who had attended pilates classes and either suffered the same fate themselves, or even worse, been on the receiving end.
But for some reason, I was blissfully unaware of the risks as I arrived for my one-to-one hour-long session. I may have missed it, but I don’t recall the health questionnaire at the start of the session including a question on problems of digestion or flatulence. Not a very comprehensive risk assessment, now that I think about it.
Anyway, it was all going swimmingly – I found I was particularly good at lying on the couch – the result of years of training. Breathing in and out also presented few difficulties, as long as I didn’t think about it too much. Before long I had progressed onto the trickier exercises, like rolling my head from side to side and lifting my arms up and down.
If only the session was half an hour, I would have stopped there and escaped without incident. It was moving onto the legs that caused the problem. Moving my long and rather heavy lower limbs around required a little more effort from my core region. While the teacher was very pleased with my ability to isolate my movement to this region, I was starting to feel a certain internal pressure that I was fairly sure would not impress her if at any time I lost control of my pelvic floor region.
But she seemed determined to make it happen. Pleased with my ability to move my legs, she now wanted me to roll my hips. “Keep your shoulders and ribs relaxed,” she said, “You don’t want to grip tightly”. “Oh, yes I do lady” I was screaming in my head. I was one untimely cough away from ending my pilates experience, and there was nowhere to hide. I couldn’t look around at anyone else accusingly, and Foley was too far away to be a suspect. Anyway, the teacher was standing right next to me, holding onto my hips. She was going to feel the full force. Nobody deserved that, let alone a complete stranger.
Thankfully, it passed. In a good way, that is, and I managed to complete my session with dignity intact. Apparently, next time she is going to try some more difficult exercises on me. :-0
But for some reason, I was blissfully unaware of the risks as I arrived for my one-to-one hour-long session. I may have missed it, but I don’t recall the health questionnaire at the start of the session including a question on problems of digestion or flatulence. Not a very comprehensive risk assessment, now that I think about it.
Anyway, it was all going swimmingly – I found I was particularly good at lying on the couch – the result of years of training. Breathing in and out also presented few difficulties, as long as I didn’t think about it too much. Before long I had progressed onto the trickier exercises, like rolling my head from side to side and lifting my arms up and down.
If only the session was half an hour, I would have stopped there and escaped without incident. It was moving onto the legs that caused the problem. Moving my long and rather heavy lower limbs around required a little more effort from my core region. While the teacher was very pleased with my ability to isolate my movement to this region, I was starting to feel a certain internal pressure that I was fairly sure would not impress her if at any time I lost control of my pelvic floor region.
But she seemed determined to make it happen. Pleased with my ability to move my legs, she now wanted me to roll my hips. “Keep your shoulders and ribs relaxed,” she said, “You don’t want to grip tightly”. “Oh, yes I do lady” I was screaming in my head. I was one untimely cough away from ending my pilates experience, and there was nowhere to hide. I couldn’t look around at anyone else accusingly, and Foley was too far away to be a suspect. Anyway, the teacher was standing right next to me, holding onto my hips. She was going to feel the full force. Nobody deserved that, let alone a complete stranger.
Thankfully, it passed. In a good way, that is, and I managed to complete my session with dignity intact. Apparently, next time she is going to try some more difficult exercises on me. :-0
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
up, up and away
This morning I called up the experience company to arrange my one-hour flying adventure. I had bought this gift for myself last year at a charity auction; I’m not sure why – I think a mix of 40-something desire to ‘live a little’ combined with a few glasses of merlot.
As I made the call to arrange a time, somewhere in the back of my mind, quite near the front, I wondered if my lack of sight might be a problem for the organisers, at which point I could gracefully duck out, egg flying over my head rather than on my face. I lost no time in letting the nice lady on the other end of the line know that I was blind, and that the flying instructors may well have an issue with this. Before you could say ‘chocks away’ she had offered me two dates and checked with the instructors – “no problem – they are fully aware of your sight problem and are quite happy with the booking”.
Wouldn’t you know it? Where’s ignorance and discrimination when you need it? Normally I can’t venture anywhere near an adventure without some jobsworth stopping me on health and safety grounds. But not this time.
Note to self – can you still buy bicycle clips?
As I made the call to arrange a time, somewhere in the back of my mind, quite near the front, I wondered if my lack of sight might be a problem for the organisers, at which point I could gracefully duck out, egg flying over my head rather than on my face. I lost no time in letting the nice lady on the other end of the line know that I was blind, and that the flying instructors may well have an issue with this. Before you could say ‘chocks away’ she had offered me two dates and checked with the instructors – “no problem – they are fully aware of your sight problem and are quite happy with the booking”.
Wouldn’t you know it? Where’s ignorance and discrimination when you need it? Normally I can’t venture anywhere near an adventure without some jobsworth stopping me on health and safety grounds. But not this time.
Note to self – can you still buy bicycle clips?
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