Dodging Death

I was just about to switch everything off thie evening when Mum came downstairs, exclaiming how something had blown the bathroom light out upstairs. I shrugged it off- it happens. What did make me get up to investigate was ten minutes later, after Mum had gone back upstairs, when she called down saying that she could smell burning.
I went upstairs, and sure enough there was a faint smell of something burning. But not a smokey smell (which would have been bad enough)- this smelled like burning plastic.

We hunted around to the source of the smell, until I noticed that it was actually coming from Mum's room itself. Mum discovered that it was, in fact, her TV pouring out evil, invisible and silent fumes- all the while still working otherwise as normal.

We quickly switched it off, although in the short space of time we discovered the source of the smell, the fumes had gotten so bad that I had to cover my nose and mouth with a towel to get close enough to fully unplug it. We threw the windows in the room open and closed the door.

Here's the kicker- normally Mum goes to bed much earlier than this, and sometimes falls asleep in front of the TV while it's still on (despite me lecturing her about doing this on many an occasion). Mum could have been gassed to death in her sleep without a sound. I would have been downstairs, completely unaware until I went upstairs, or possibly in my adjacent room, also being silently poisoned. Or, the TV would set alight. Either way, if Mum hadn't been up later than usual (ironically watching TV instead of falling asleep to it), Dad may have come home from his night shift to bodies, burning or both.

Sobering thought.

I've moved Mum downstairs to sleep on the sofa for the night while the fumes dissipate from her room. In the meantime I've been periodically checking the TV to make sure it stops fuming, which thankfully, it has now.

This is right up there with the time the ceiling collapsed in a patch right next to my bed with me in it, in terms of brushes with the grim reaper.

Short Stories: A Potentially Very Unattractive Death

Last night, I found out what happens when you take a laxative about twenty minutes before you realise you have food poisoning.

I'll let that set the scene without going into graphic detail, shall I?

I spent about an hour and a half in the bathroom, with a fierce fever and struggling to keep breathing, trying not to completely pass out, and being vaguely astounded that I still had a sense of humour (I was contemplating how typical it would be for me to go out like Elvis Presley, and how if it were up to me I'd have chosen a more dignified parting). Even after all that time in there and once I started to at very least not feel like I may be about to die, it took every last ounce of strength I had to sort myself out, force some water down to rehydrate myself and get into bed (of course even this couldn't happen normally- as my right leg had gone to sleep I had to stumble-hop the whole way- which is not a nice thing to have to do when you still feel sick to your stomach).

I can only put the whole incident down to very, very bad timing and quite bad luck. Thankfully I'm a lot better today, but my stomach is still making some very forbidding sounds.