Imagine, then, his delight when he received a whopping £500 for rescuing Mrs. Taylor's Whiskers from the clutches of a particularly lofty oak tree. Five hundred pounds! It felt like winning the lottery, a prize fit for a king! “Life,” he mused, a smug grin plastered across his face, “is a funny old sausage, isn't it?”
Humming a jaunty tune, as out of tune as a bagpipe convention after a power cut, Jack turned the corner and nearly tripped over a sight that made his jaw drop. Dozens, scores, a veritable army of pensioners, were pounding the pavement, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, in what appeared to be a 10k marathon.
“Good heavens!” he exclaimed, nearly swallowing his chewing gum. “They're off like a shot!”
His face crumpled in horror. “Madness! Absolute madness!” he sputtered, his voice rising in alarm. “They're running headfirst into their own doom! Cardiac arrest, strokes, broken hips! I can see it all now! Their blood pressure's probably hitting the roof! They should be at home, tucked up with a nice cup of tea and “Antiques Roadshow”!” He envisioned ambulances screeching, paramedics frantically pumping chests, the whole scene a catastrophic symphony of wheezing and snapping bones. Yes, Jack was a walking, talking tragedy magnet that day.
“Oi, you lot!” he shouted, waving his arms like a demented windmill. “Stop! Think of your health!”
One particularly sprightly lady, her grey hair pulled back in a severe bun, flashed him a withering look. “Get out of the way, sonny!” she barked. “Some of us have got a personal best to beat!”
Jack, utterly convinced he was saving lives, charged onto the course, attempting to block the runners with his outstretched arms. It was a scene worthy of a silent film, all flapping limbs and exaggerated expressions. Chaos reigned! A rogue walking stick took him in the shin, a swarm of lycra-clad grannies descended upon him like angry wasps, and then, oh, the indignity! His foot landed on something soft, squishy, and distinctly yellow.
Down he went, arms flailing, legs akimbo, landing with a resounding “thump” on the unforgiving tarmac. A particularly ripe banana peel, discarded with carefree abandon, had sealed his fate.
He sat up, dazed, clutching his leg. A sharp pain shot through it. “Oh dear,” he groaned, his face a picture of utter misery. “I think I've broken something.”