This one is a grim and gremlin dominated story. Fasten your seat belts.
Ever since I fractured my left wrist and broke a bone in my right hand, my orderly (?) house has been overrun by gremlins. They’re so quick I don’t even see them but my, they’re cunning and they have quite extraordinary powers. They can move the edge of a table or a worktop inches away from me in seconds, so that I set a full cup of coffee down on empty air or drop it on the floor before I’ve even realised what they’re doing. And they’re demons with full saucepans. I’ve lost count of the number of pans I’ve emptied into the sink instead of onto the plate or even worse onto the floor instead of the sink. Their piece de resistance was moving an entire cooker out of range so that I tipped half a pint of milk into the hob and all over the floor. I never realised half a pint of milk could spread so far. My nice blue floor was a white pond, although I have to admit I turned the air blue to compensate. It took far too long to mop all the the milk up with with my remaining more or less useful hand. And to add insult to injury, the milk dripped off the sides of the hob onto my head while I was doing it. I felt I was drowning in milk.
Since then, they’ve interfered with every aspect of my life, reducing my piles of notes to a disorderly heap: spinning the soap out of my hand into the corner of the wet-room where I couldn’t reach it, couldn’t pick it up and couldn’t even kick it into touch, and turning the shower head into a wilful snake that coiled and twisted and showered everything with hot water except me. My innocent forks are bewitched and have now developed a trick of tossing the food away from them into the air or down my clothes or onto the carpet. The washing machine cringes every time I come towards it with another armful of food spattered clothing.
But I’ll get even. You have my word for it. Gremlins beware! I shan’t be in plasters and splints forever. And ‘Deep in my heart, I do believe we shall overcome someday.’