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Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Legs of DeathWell I made it out of Essex alive, which is all the more surprising when you realise that members of my family have taken to travelling about with lethal deathtraps on their feet. Having seen the Zurich Insurance ad on TV a couple of months ago, I responded by increasing my home contents cover, while my brother, who's essentially just a thinner version of me, but with less sense and more money, rushed straight out and invested in some legs of death. As proved by this grainy low-resolution picture (a bit like The Blair Witch Project, only scarier). And as if leaping about a public park in Chelmsford like a cross between Heather Mills and a gazelle isn't enough, he was about to head a football in that picture.

What I don't have photographic evidence of, however, was my sister's attempt at wearing them. Mainly because it took four of us to hold her upright (when I say upright, I mean bent double, doing the splits), leaving no hands free to take a photo.

Needless to say, I didn't have a go. Obviously I wanted to, but I exceed the maximum weight allowance, and for safety reasons had to withdraw from the fun. I'm also the only one without life insurance.

Anyhoo, I had an enjoyable Sunday at my parents', recreating the story of our lives - my brother left home early, my sister soon afterwards, while I padded about in my slippers, ate everything in sight, and stayed much longer than expected. On Monday I ventured into Chelmsford, where I had an argument with a man at the petrol station about overflowing fuel (all my fault apparently - I didn't read their notice warning me that the pumps don't cut out, and you're liable to pump petrol all over the forecourt when you try to buy £20 of unleaded), after which I went to Maplins and had an argument with a man about a dodgy adaptor (also all my fault - apparently I shouldn't listen to people who claim to know what they're talking about).

All of that was enough to make me stay in on Monday afternoon, where I witnessed my Dad getting to grips with a new mobile phone. Having watched him struggling to compose a text message for half an hour, I consoled him by mentioning that I too found predictive text confusing when I first tried it. At which point my Mother jumped in to inform us that my 7-year-old niece mastered it in under two minutes. So it's back to telegrams for him now.