TUMBLE

I went for a walk with my friend Luke today. It was going well until I slipped up and fell over.

That’s mud for you: one minute squelchy, the next slidey. I went over like a skittle.

It’s a strange sensation, falling over - not something I’ve done a lot of. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I took a tumble.

It happens quickly but also very slowly. The brain kicks in and speeds up, attempting to process what’s happening to protect you from serious harm. Because of that cerebral acceleration, it feels like all the time around you has suddenly slowed down. You know what’s about to happen, what is happening, and what has happened, all in the blink of an eye. One foot goes one way, the balance is gone and then there you are, upended.

Almost as quickly, that little adrenaline rush leaves you, and the passage of time returns to its usual speed. I found myself staring at the grey sky, wondering how my hat had popped off. Before long that grey sky was half-filled with Luke’s face, staring at me upside-down.

“I’ve fallen over,” I said, matter-of-factly. Then I righted myself, stood up, and reassured him that I was okay. I squared my woolly hat back onto my head.

There wasn’t any room for embarrassment. I was more concerned that my back was covered in sticky mud. It was interesting to me that I’d be more embarrassed had it been the other way round - if Luke had slipped and I hadn’t. I know this because about a year ago, I was walking for the bus with a colleague when she slipped on the ice. I felt terrible (though I did help her up and check she was alright). It was awkward after that, so I did what all awkward English people do and carried on with the previous conversation as though very little had happened. We never mentioned it again.

Luke was great. He checked I wasn’t concussed or anything, or that I hadn’t landed on my coccyx. I was fine: the mud cushioned the blow. We laughed it off.

I’d rather not have fallen over though.