Hammer Time and a Less Than Prompt Reply

Thank you to A.PROMPTreply for nominating me for my second Liebster award. I’m sorry for being less than prompt with my response, but I like to consider my answers (although you possibly wouldn’t guess). I’ve finally posted my answers to the questions asked of me though on my Breadcrumb Trails page, along with a couple of additions to my recommended blogs list. These include A.PROMPTreply and http://west517.wordpress.com for her stunning photography. Inspiring.

I also realised that I’d missed a near-death from my list for Arthur Didymus’ Versatile Blogger Award. To have edited it in would have messed up the 7 random facts, so shall share it here instead. It goes thus:

It must have been around 1983 as we were living in my second childhood house. Living on a housing estate full of cul-de-sacs and avenues the neighbouring kids all used to just play out on the street whilst our parents used to do other stuff. Helicopter parenting was unheard of back then.

So I was 8 and my sister 6 and I decided to have a roller disco in our garage with some of the kids down the street. I had the coolest pair of roller boots that I’d scrimped and saved to buy (I can still see the look if horror on the sales assistant’s face when I tipped out my jar of 1ps and 2ps onto the counter and how happy I’d been that I’d got a discount just because he’d got fed up with counting the loose change.) The boots looked like this and I adored them:


My sister, on the other hand, had decided to fritter her money on My Little Pony or Care Bears or something, so she had a naff pair of roller skates that looked like this:

She didn’t want to join in with my spontaneous party of awesomeness.

She did, however, want to hammer some wood in the garage. The two activities don’t really mix. Her persistent hammering kept drowning out our listening to Double Dutch by Malcolm McLaren playing on the cassette player.

“Hey ebo, ebo, ebonettes.”


“Hey ebo, ebo, ebonettes.”


I told her to stop hammering in a way that only a big sister can. She refused. I told her again, a bit more forcefully this time.

She hit me over the head with the hammer.

My screams brought my parents running. They probably startled the neighbourhood dogs too. It was the one time I wasn’t told to man up to my sister. It was also the one time my sister was the one in trouble. ‘You could’ve killed her! You could’ve killed her!’ they kept yelling (obviously forgetting that my mum once also nearly killed me) as I kept crying, a fair lump growing on my head. They didn’t take me to A&E mind you – thanks, parents.

Needless to say, it brought a rapid end to the roller disco, the kids all stood in shock before my mum sent them packing. I was gutted. Until that point it was the one time I was the cool kid and the centre of attention. Thanks to my sister I ended up being the focus for all of the wrong reasons. You can’t be cool covered in tears and snot having nearly been taken out by a younger sibling.

Sometimes I’m amazed we even still speak, although this story has us both cringing, her for almost killing me and me for having such suspect taste.

Ah, the 1980s – just made for cringing embarrassment.


5 thoughts on “Hammer Time and a Less Than Prompt Reply”

  1. Those rollerskates you had are actually really cool! I wouldn’t mind a pair if a) nineteen wasn’t too old to have any. B) rollerskating and pram pushing at the same time didn’t sound a collision just waiting to happen and c) i was actually good at skating.

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