The Hammock

Today, I fell out of a hammock. Well…not exactly out of a hammock. More like, I fell getting into a hammock.

It hurt. It really hurt. I thought I’d cracked a rib. I definitely ripped a nail. Admittedly I’d had some wine.

Mr H heard my loud ‘Fuck’ and ran over chortling in his wheezy Dastardly and Mutley way that he has when someone has hurt themselves. The dog was worried - and his way of showing concern is to jump on top of you repeatedly. Mr H found that even more amusing. I started to cry. He’s a really fat Labrador. (The dog, not Mr H).

‘Just get the dog off me!!’ I shrieked.

‘Are you Ok?’, says Mr H.

‘No, but I will be if you and the dog just fuck off!’, says I.

And he trots off with the dog, still chuckling away to himself. And then something weird happens…..

I start to howl. Not just a few tears of frustration or irritation. Waves of emotion convulsing through me. Huge sobs. Except that I can hear the neighbours, weeding their borders right behind the fence beside me , so I suck the noise in exhaling through silent staccato sobs, then inhale a massive gulp of air and repeat the process. I cannot stop. I’m like some kind of wheezing pneumatic drill.

I cover my face and mouth trying not to make a sound whilst I continue to sob uncontrollably. After a little while, Mr H trots back.

‘What's the matter?”, he says.

‘Leave me alone. I'll be fine’, I mumble, through the tears

And still the sobs come. I just can’t stop the waves of emotion flooding through me. I can’t put a name to them really - just full blown, generic emotion…. Anger; frustration; sadness; fear; guilt. Everything I have bottled up for years, leaking out of my body like one of those time fractures in Dr Who. Unstoppable.

After abut 20 mins my nose is so bunged up with snot that I attempt a trip to the loo to blow my nose. Mr H follows. He is serious. I try to be brave but I still can’t stop the sobs and then he holds me. And the sobs continue. It’s as though they’ve been held down under pressure for years and now like bath sealant or superglue, they are oozing out of my skin covered tube.

‘Sorry’, I say. ‘It’s not your fault (Secretly thinking it partly is). I’ve booked an appointment at the doctors.’

‘Thank fuck for that’, he says. When?

‘3 weeks’ time’,

‘3 weeks!!! he says, and then he holds me again with a look of horror, confusion and more than a tad of helplessness written all over his face.

‘Join the club mate’, I think.

And the tears keep rolling.