The most dangerous place I know is my mum’s kitchen and believe me I know. I’ve been in riots, fights, crashes and I’ve got the scars to prove it but this is dangerous. It may be because I’ve done so much washing up at the sink.
Today I was caught up in the middle of an enormous electrical storm, watching lightening crashing around me with almost no gap between the flash and the sound of the thunder. I could smell/taste the acridness of the burnt air. Really, quite a buzz.
It’s a bad spot for lightning – a neighbour about 70 yards away was hit twice in her house. Yes, I said twice.
Today, after one really close flash, I could hear the air crackling and felt my foot and ankle tingling. Wow that was weird – it’s the ankle I broke and it has a rather big surgical nail running up the shin and a plate screwed into it. So no hiding place for me.
I also witnessed an earthquake in that kitchen – a small one with the epicentre in the midlands about 200 miles away. I thought I was going mad – I was washing up and dreamily looking out of the window when I could feel the air move against my face – as if I was on a conveyor belt and had been moved forward and then back about an inch.
No one else I spoke to felt anything – but about a week later there was a story in the local paper from someone else who had a similar experience.
Dangerous place, that kitchen.
My campaign to cheer myself up hasn’t been working either. I’ve been having arguments with the hospital and getting stressed out again and I’ve got an appointment of my own coming up.
Time for some adventures, I think.
(a don’t stop till you drop production)itchen. Today I was caugthHome: helpmesortoutstpeters.blogspot.com