The case of the Jalapeno pepper

This post goes back to my bedsit days, I lived in a tiny street called Dolphin Street, and it was situated in the oldest part of Salisbury. I loved it there and when looking across the roofs from my bedroom window you were offered a view that not that many see. All the old buildings could be seen and when it snowed in particular it reminded me of a Dickens scene.
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It is also the scene of a very painful memory too.
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It was common place for me in those days to buy takeaway food in the evening and eat it cold in the morning for breakfast. Not good I know but I used to work late as a doorman and a couple of kebabs was all there was to buy. One on the way home and a cold one for breakfast get it?
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This day however I’d gone up market and purchased a pizza, the owner of the pizza place knew I liked peppers and used to sprinkle a few loose ones on top. I had eaten half of it as was the way and the rest lay by the side of the bed for the morning.
It was a Sunday morning and the sun streamed through the window pulling me away from slumber, I contemplated getting up and making my way down the three floors to the kitchen but I slumped back still tired from the late night before.
Then I remembered the pizza.
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Still half remained which was more than enough for breakfast but in truth I couldn’t be bothered to get up. I reached down a grabbed a slice and carefully raised it up to above my face. It was at this point that a Jalapeno pepper that had been placed there previously as an act of kindness chose its moment to make a break for freedom.
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Why it chose my eye I will never know. There was a moment when time seemed to stand still, almost like everything was waiting for something to happen, and happen it did as the first fiery surge of stinging pain shot through my eye. The pizza slice went flying and stuck to the screen of my tv which I also felt was a bit mean.
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Then almost at the same time I tried to escape the bed but my foot got tangled in the bed clothes and panic set in. I ended up with my shoulders in the remaining pizza and my legs tangled in a knot of sheets that even Houdini would have been pushed to escape from. The bedroom now looked like a war zone and even Kate Bush didn’t escape unharmed, well at least one of her records., because a beer bottle still half full managed to topple itself over in the melee and the golden liquid once named “Harvester’s moon” made its way slowly across the floor to the album cover. I watched almost in slow motion as Kate’s image greedily soaked up a good glug of Harvester’s moon and ruined its self.
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I treat all chilli peppers with a little more respect now.

Andy

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