As well as making me laugh out loud, this video got me thinking:
In late 2002, a few weeks after the birth of my daughter, I was knocked down while on a busy pedestrian crossing at the West End of Princes Street. I was crossing on the green man and a BMW driver jumped the red light and sent me spinning into the air. This happened shortly after midnight.
The culprit, Anthony Tester, was traced because a passer-by got a partial number plate. Although cops found his car parked outside his house they couldn’t get any response to the repeated bangs on his door in the small hours of the morning. Strange that a man should sleep so soundly, considering the trauma (having just run me over on a pedestrian crossing, he later told police he only fled the scene because “my friends” were moving threateningly towards his car. I was alone. Those “friends” were actually passers-by who couldn’t believe what they’d just witnessed) he’d endured.
Regardless of that, Tony Tester seemed to be enjoying the deep, peaceful sleep of the righteous. Either that, or he was hiding under his bed, desperetaly trying to avoid the inevitable breath test. In the circumstances, the police could do nothing. When they were able to breath test him the next day – a good 12 hours later – unsurprisingly he was not over the limit.
Eventually he was fined £500 and given some penalty points for failing to stop at the scene of an accident. I wasn’t in court because I wasn’t told. So I didn’t get to say my piece to the Edinburgh Sheriff, which would have been: “Your Honour, it’s my belief that Tony Tester is a drink-driving scumbag who only by luck avoided robbing my baby daughter of her father. I hope you ban him from the roads for a long time.”
Still, the point of this wasn’t to let out Tester’s nasty little secret all these years later (and if word reaches his friends, family and colleagues that would be a real shame). In fact the point of the little aside is this:
The day after the accident, with my entire body black and blue and aching, I got up and went to work. I was just as happy to be suffering the discomfort in the office as I was to be stuck at home watching crap daytime TV. And if I’d been afllicted with the so-called “man cold” or even more dreaded “man flu” then I would also still have turned up for work.
Just for the record, most of the blokes I’ve ever worked with were/are exactly the same. They pretty much turn up for work uncomplaining and without too much fuss with deep tissue injuries, fractures, infections or even still-healing vasectomies. So, where exactly does this man cold/man fly myth come from? A job for the urban myth-busting site, www.snopes.com (click here) perchance?
More to the point, perhaps we should actually be asking who might actually benefit from such a long enduring myth (“womankind” anyone?).