6FT DUNLOP SACK

This one time when I was little, maybe around 5 (my brother would have been 7). My dad got us a punching bag to ‘toughen us up’. Now jack and I had to be the most flaccid kids in the neighbourhood. To top it off, dad had filled this bag up with sand. Yes, sand. A six foot bag of solid hard sand.

Now, you just imagine how heavy that would be. Put it this way it was that heavy it had a metal bracket, metal CHAINS and scaffolding ATTACHED to the brick wall of the outhouse for support. If you would have punched it your hand would physically invert back up your arm. You’d smash every single vertebrae in your hand. So naturally this bag was redundant and consequently, we never got tough. Soz dad.

Jack however, got clever. So as I said, this death-bag was attached to the wall of the outhouse. There was a path that the bag cut into. He called me out to the garden. Red faced, holding this bag at an angle (surely you can see where this is going) he invited me to come over. So being a fat, idiot child I obliged.

“What’s the password” he gasped, crippled by holding the bag up. Now usually, he opted for a rather hubris one like “Jedi master, the best ever Jack”. Yes, you read that correct, Jedi (cringeeee). But it was clear that no matter how much ego inflating I did, I wasn’t going to get it right. I can see that now, hindsight is a wonderful thing.

I didn’t even have chance to breathe when suddenly I was splattered against the wall like a bug on the windsheild of a car. He let go of the bag and the sheer speed it clocked before it collided with me was unreal. When I replay it in my head it’s in slow motion. The evil glitter in Jacks eye. The FFFWWHHHHHH noise it made through the air. Jesus Christ, You probably felt the Earth tremor, and again when my fat arse fell to the floor.

I was a bit like spongebob when he visits Sandy. Gasping for my LIFE. Naturally, turning the shade of blue that I did, my brother processed the seriousness of lobbing a 6ft sand bag at me and went into hyper panic mode. Again, hindsight on both our parts here. “You’re okay, you’re okay! Just get up, just breathe….Don’t tell mum” he begged. That’s funny, I can’t BREATHE let alone talk. My short 5 years flashed before my eyes. Is this how it ends? Death by a cheap DUNLOP sack? I don’t have a will, who will have all my teddy bears?

Of course I lived to tell the tale. Am I wiser for being slammed up a wall? No, can’t say I am. Would I walk infront of a 6ft sandbag again though? Absolutely not. So perhaps I did learn something here. You know I always try to find the moral to share with you.

I have absolutely no idea why I decided to write about this. But I hope it got a laugh and you will reconsider if you ever got a similar proposition.

Stay groovey spinsters xx