Stranger hum you may have 'heard' about.

Quote:The Hum: Villagers say they're 'tortured' by mystery noise

At first glance, Holmfield looks like a quiet village. But for some residents, their lives are being made a misery by a mysterious rumbling noise in their homes. Not everyone can hear it and investigations have failed to find the source. The BBC went to investigate what locals call the Holmfield Hum.

"I love my home but some days I absolutely detest being in it. It feels like there's no happy space here any more."

Yvonne Conner hears the hum. Aside from the odd weekend when she has had to "escape", it has been the background sound in her Victorian stone terrace since 2019.

For her, the hum is a constant droning sound, like the whirring of a washing machine or an idling diesel engine. Not everyone in Holmfield experiences it, but for those that do, its impact has been severe, even costing Yvonne her health and job.

As we chat in the high-ceiling kitchen at the back of the house, Yvonne says the hum is whirring away, like it does most days and nights. I concentrate on trying to pick it up, but can't hear anything.

She explains: "As much as I can hear it I can feel it on my eardrums. It resonates and feels like a pressure against them. That's pretty much what it's like all the time."

Unlike high-pitched noises, low-frequency sounds like the hum - which range in frequency from about 10Hz to 200Hz - can't be masked and are capable of penetrating through blockers such as ear plugs and headphones. On a night when the streets and houses are silent, the noise is amplified.

"One particular night I woke about 5.30am with a start. 'For God's sake', I thought, I could hear it through my pillow. The only thing I could do was to put my headphones on, play music, lie on my back and hope somehow, I could just forget it was there.

"But it's impossible and it feels like this never-ending cycle of torture."

Yvonne is not the only one affected. In 2020, many others in and around the West Yorkshire village signed a petition prompting an investigation by Calderdale Council.

Holmfield sits at the bottom of a valley - homes dotted around a fairly large expanse of industrial and commercial premises. Villagers have previously said they believed local industrial units were to blame for the noise.

Zoe Millar has also endured years of disrupted sleep: "It leaves you feeling worn out because it's worse on a night so trying to sleep is hard. We have considered moving but why should we when it's something that's not our fault?"

Initially, the authority said it had pinpointed three possible sources, although never specified which ones. But at the end of their investigation, officers concluded they had not been able to find the cause.

The phenomenon of difficult-to-trace, low-frequency hums is not unique to Holmfield. Similar irritating noises bother people elsewhere across the country.

In Bournemouth, Chris House has been driven to despair by a constant droning. It started out slowly in 2019 but built up during lockdown to become "absolutely horrendous".

He says there was "no escape from it inside", adding: "I would go out shopping and have this abject fear about coming back home. You can't find the words to describe how it feels to live with. It's soul destroying."

Feeling like he was getting little help in solving the mysterious noise, Chris spent £3,000 trying to get answers. He paid for a private investigation by an independent sound expert which revealed the likely source was a nearby internet booster hub serving the city.

Though Chris is confident he's found the problem, pinpointing these types of noises is challenging, according to acoustic expert Peter Rogers. He says it requires a scientific approach to proving the noise exists by measuring it, but also understanding the physical and psychological factors at play.

Peter explains: "Sound is something which has been used for torture and when you can't get away from it, it becomes all consuming. Think the dripping tap idea.

"If you can't control it and have to live with it, then it's a physical stress and you start to see chronic physical symptoms."

Therefore, he says, it's not an exaggeration for these sufferers to say that their lives are being ruined by the hum. Since 2000, the World Health Organisation has recognised low-frequency noise as an environmental problem that causes various health impacts.

In Yvonne's case, she says living with it has caused shingles, anxiety and headaches. At its worst, she quit her job as a charity support worker because the stress left her unable to function properly.

The maddening reality she endures means at times she has questioned her own sanity, wondering whether the rumbling really exists.

It's not an uncommon response, says Peter. Having been involved in similar cases over his 30-years experience, he finds people like Yvonne are hearing real noises.

He explains: "Quite often they start doubting themselves and think they're going crazy. We're able to go in and prove with science that by measuring it, it's there and they're sane.

"The problem is then trying to find where it's coming from and it's a bit like searching for that elusive needle in a haystack.

"If you imagine the soundscape people are living in, there's all sorts of noises coming and going day and night so you've to effectively turn everything off to start the job of finding it."

Peter says common causes of such sounds can be something as minor as a mains hum in the home, a neighbour's hot tub, a transformer on a telegraph pole or industrial premises. Often it may be that residents are hearing different versions of the hum or the noise is coming from a mixture of sources.

"When you go in with the right equipment and approach you can get a sonic fingerprint which will then start giving you some clues as to what it could be.

"For example, if there's a 50Hz element to it, it's probably mains related so you would start looking at things likes transformers near the house."

Back in Holmfield, the council said it had "given its all to the investigation and left no stone unturned" but has now closed the case.

Councillor Jenny Lyons, cabinet member for public services and communities, said: "At this time, we are unable to take matters further. We know that this is not the outcome that the complainants were hoping for, but we have exhausted all current lines of inquiry.

"We don't doubt that some residents are experiencing noise, so we will regularly review the situation and we're happy to restart our investigations if any new evidence comes to light."

Meanwhile, it doesn't change the daily droning and misery for Yvonne and others.

She says: "We should be able to live peacefully in our homes but I'm sorry, Calderdale Council might have stopped their investigation but I'm still not living peacefully in my house."

Many guessed that when the Covid scare came to a close and the smoke of disorientation cleared, the real
part of what many called a 'Scam-demic' would come to light. Well... it did and this is just the tip of the
iceberg. The irony is that now, the actual newspaper that rallied the storm of fear across Great Britain is
now beginning to see the truth about how something Orson Welles would be proud of, was executed under
their watch.

Quote:Revealed: the full inside story of the Michelle Mone PPE scandal


The Players.

*PE Medpro and partners made as much as £100m profits
*At least £70m from PPE Medpro contracts taken offshore
*Small electronics firm behind supply of gowns for NHS
*Jet, yacht and racehorse purchased after PPE deal
*Tory peer and husband now selling yacht and properties
*Mone takes leave of absence from Lords and may leave UK

'On the sunny spring evening of 7 May 2020, in the lethal first wave of the Covid pandemic, the Conservative peer
Michelle Mone and her husband, Douglas Barrowman, had themselves filmed for Instagram. Standing between the
stone pillars at the front door of their mansion on the Isle of Man, they clapped for NHS staff, carers and other key
workers, as they did weekly from different parts of their Ballakew estate.

“As always, Doug and myself would just like to say a massive thank you tonight to everyone … that are keeping the
country going,” Lady Mone posted. “We appreciate each and every one of you.”


The Home.

Two years later, officers from the National Crime Agency (NCA) were investigating PPE Medpro, a company that
received more than £200m of government Covid contracts weeks after Mone referred it to ministers. The Ballakew
estate, a nine-bedroom property nestled amid 154 acres of manicured grounds, with a spa, tennis court and helipad,
was one of several places raided on 27 April this year as part of the NCA’s inquiry into potential fraud by PPE Medpro.

Lawyers for PPE Medpro have declined to comment on the NCA investigation, which is continuing. However, this week
the company was at the centre of a political storm.

The prime minister, Rishi Sunak, said he was “absolutely shocked” by a bombshell report published by the Guardian
two weeks ago revealing that Mone and her husband secretly received tens of millions of pounds originating from PPE
Medpro’s profits, according to bank documents.

MPs voted to force Sunak’s government to release documents relating to PPE Medpro, which Mone had helped to secure
a place for on a “VIP” lane that the government used to prioritise politically connected suppliers at the start of the pandemic.

Meanwhile, the Guardian revealed that Mone had been “aggressively’” lobbying ministers on behalf of a second company,
LFI Diagnostics, which was another secret entity of her husband’s family office in the Isle of Man.

Now, the Guardian can reveal previously unreported details about the PPE deal at the heart of the Mone controversy and
the enormous profits it appears to have generated – mostly on the back of supplies that have been rejected by the
Department of Health and Social Care (DHSC) in a dispute with the company.

Mone, Barrowman, PPE Medpro and three other intermediary companies in the supply chain appear to have made in
excess of £100m in profits from government contracts worth £203m, according to a Guardian analysis. It is a business
chain that stretches from the Isle of Man to Cyprus, Hong Kong and then China, and it resulted, it seems, in vast fortunes
that were moved offshore.

The string of revelations appears to have taken its toll on Mone, who announced this week that she was taking a leave
of absence from the House of Lords with immediate effect – according to her spokesperson, “in order to clear her name
of the allegations that have been unjustly levelled against her”.

The only speck of good news for the peer this week appears to have come in the 1.17pm race at Newcastle on Thursday,
won by Monbeg Genius, a horse she bought for her husband as his “second wedding gift”. The six-year-old gelding, bought
for £80,000, was one of a number of acquisitions that Mone and her husband made in the months after they secretly
received at least £65m from profits originating from PPE Medpro. In a change of direction, several of those assets are
now for sale.

In March 2020, when the horror of the pandemic was setting in and the government began frantically trying to fill PPE
stockpiles that had been allowed to dwindle dangerously low, normal requirements that public contracts must be
competitively tendered were abandoned.

The DHSC would end up spending £12bn on PPE, much of it acquired via the “VIP” lane, which prioritised contracts for
companies recommended by MPs, peers and other politically connected people...'

Since the crossing from the old site, Erwin Saunders has been a little scarce in his quest to find out more
about the enigmatic race that dwells beside us.

His latest video shows 'Carol' -the hardly-quiet lady, continuing her un-stealthy approach to the light-fingered
woodland Pixies the shaggy man finds fascinating. Onwards, I suppose.

 Maggie Poteet lived alone in the big white house on the corner of Holly Lane. She was a small woman with short graying hair that frizzed close to her scalp. She wore black rimmed glasses that stood out on her pale scowling face. She always wore that scowl because Maggie Poteet was a very unhappy person.

Every year around Christmas she would stand on her porch, frowning at the lights adorning the other houses on her street. She had of course written letters to the city counsel to get them removed each year to no avail. This year had been no exception.

Emma and Sophie Davis were walking the family dog, a lab named Rosie. Maggie Poteet was there, on her porch, clutching her small chihuahua. Her small round eyes glared through them. "Keep your dog out my yard" she growled. "I know you've been letting it do it's business here, I've seen you. I'll call animal control and you won't have a dog anymore."

Emma opened her mouth to say they'd done no such thing, but Sophie grabbed her arm and whispered, "Come on Em, let's not get her started."

They looked back in time to see her throw her small dog into the house before she went in and slammed the door behind her. Emma reached down and pet Rosie as she said, "Poor dog."

Magie Poteet paced and thought, taking breaks every now and then to scold the small dog. He hadn't done anything to be scolded over, just the same as the people living near her had never done anything. Maggie Poteet was just filled with anger and that's just the way it was.

She suddenly stopped pacing and smiled an evil smile, "I've got it, I'll ruin their Christmas."
She grabbed a pen and notebook, swatted the tiny dog off the chair, sat down and began to write.

The next morning, she got dressed in one of her matching sweatshirts and pants. This one was pink with of all things, a heart on the front. She put on a black vest and her white sneakers then headed to her car.

She knew before she looked what she had stepped in by her car door. She looked down to see the produckt of some dog's dinner caked all around her once pristinely white shoe. "That dog will go today" she muttered under her breath as she tried to clean her shoe on the dead grass covering the ground to the side of her drive.

Maggie Poteet drove with her windows down, for it hadn't taken long before the smell had permeated through the entire car. She trembled with rage and the need to vomit.

She arrived at the bank just as a mother and small child were going inside. Maggie Poteet hated small children. She tried to ignore the happy jabbering of the child who was wondering around aimlessly in the lobby and withdrew some cash. After she received the small amount, she'd asked for, she turned to leave and noticed the happy toddler was waving a lollipop around. She plucked the lollipop from the child's chubby fist and as he stared at her with wide eyes, unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth. She walked out of the bank leaving the now wailing child behind her.

She immediately began putting her plan into action, this was the day before Christmas Eve. She knew she'd need to hurry to get it all done.

She stopped by the casino, put a couple of dollars into a machine and gambled it down to just a few cents before retrieving the slip and walking back out. Her next stop was the liquor store, where she bought a bottle of cheap whiskey. She then headed to the local grocery store. The one where Pam Morris worked.

Pam was a single mother who was barely able to keep a roof over her and her son's heads. She was, at this moment, excited because she would be getting a small bonus that would ensure her boy would have somewhat of a good Christmas. Maggie Poteet would change all that.

She grabbed a big, juicy steak and headed for Pam's line, pausing to take a chocolate bar. She ate the bar and folded the wrapper up. Pam was as kind as ever as she rang up and bagged the steak. Maggie Poteet stepped behind the counter just enough to drop the wrapper near Pam's feet. She flagged down Pam's manager of the way out and informed him that she'd seen Pam take the bar and eat it.

She heard Pam's manager say, "I'm sorry Pam, but this will be your third write up, you were late twice this month and now this. We're going to have to send you home."

Maggie Poteet rushed to get back to her neighborhood. There was still much to do, and she knew exactly what needed to be done because she listened. A person could pick up a lot just by listening.

She waited for the mail to be delivered and when she saw the mail carrier drive away, she went for a walk. She stopped at the Miller's mailbox. Little Ava Miller will be anxiously waiting for a certain envelope. An envelope containing an invite to what would be her first sleep over party. An envelope, Maggie Poteet thought, as she clasped it in her clawed fingers, she'd never get.

She went home to wait and around 5 pm she heard barking. Right on time she thought as she grabbed the steak. She crept silently to the gate in the Davis family's backyard, held out the piece of meat and said, "Come on Rosie."

Rosie, who had never known anything but kindness and thought everyone was a friend did not hesitate. She followed Maggie Poteet to her car and climbed right in to enjoy her unexpected treat. Maggie Poteet got into the driver's seat and quickly drove away to the animal shelter two counties away. She'd have just enough time to get there before they closed, and she couldn't wait because the meat must not have set well with Rosie as 15 minutes after she ate it, she had become quite gassy.

A couple of hours later, Maggie Poteet pulled back into her drive, opened her door and began to roll up her windows which she'd left down the entire trip trying to air out the smell of Rosie's sour stomach. 

She saw Danny Foster pull into his drive. She watched as he pulled several packages from his car and walk away without locking his doors. She quickly poured the whiskey out of the bottle she'd bought earlier and grabbed the slip from the casino. She slipped over to the car, opened the door and put them behind the driver's seat, where Danny's wife, Tracey was sure to find them when she headed out to her overnight job at the hospital. So much for 1 year sober, she thought as she quietly shut the door.

She then went to her porch and waited for the aftermath. It didn't take long.

"Rosie, Rosie, come on girl!" The shouts of Emma and Sophie Davis drifted in the night air.

"I'm sorry girls" she heard their mother say, "I called the shelter, but they are closed for the holiday."

"But we can't have Christmas without her" Emma cried.

"Check the mailbox again mom" Ava Miller said to her mother while struggling to reach up to check for herself.

"There is nothing there sweetie, I'm sorry."

Tears streamed down Ava's face as she said, "I can't believe she forgot me."

Nothing much was going on around Pam's house. Maggie Poteet could only imagine the words that were spoken to her young son about why there would be no Christmas for him this year.

She slid to the edge of her seat as Tracey Foster walked outside of her house. She clasped her fingers together in anticipation as Tracey opened the back driver's side door to place her bag in the backseat. She watched her hesitate before going back toward the house. 

"Danny, come here please."

Danny came out the young twins trailing behind him. Tracey held up the bottle and casino slip. "What is this? You said you'd stopped."

"I don't know where that came from."

"Likely story. Boys, get a few things you're staying at grandma's tonight. As for you Danny we'll finish this discussion tomorrow."

The boys went inside for a moment and came back with their bags. Crying, they hugged their father and got into the car.

Magie Poteet smiled as she noticed the houses remained dark. Not one of them glowed with the hideous light of Christmas. She went inside and scooped up her small dog. "Come on Scooter! Let's enjoy the un-Christmas!"

She set him down and began to dance around as she enjoyed the misery that she had brought to those around her. As she danced, she didn't notice where he had finally, with great relief, released that which he'd held all day. As she did a little twirl, her foot landed in the middle of it and slid out from under her. She climbed slowly to her feet as bits of it crumbled off the leg of her pink joggers. She roared with anger as she went to grab the frightened dog. Just as she grabbed him and stood up, everything went dark, as a sack was thrown over her head.

Scooter dropped to the ground and ran to Pam Morris' house just as it began to snow. He scratched on her door with his tiny paw. Pam opened the door, and he ran outside. She looked out at the storm and said, "I'm not going out in that. You can stay here tonight. We don't have much, and even less now than we did but you'll be warm and safe, for a while at least."

The next morning, she got dressed, picked Scooter up and they began the trek through the snow to Maggie Poteet's house. The door was open. She called out, "Ms. Poteet?" but there was no answer.

She poked her head in and saw the home was in disarray. Worried she went back to her house and called the police.

The detectives soon arrived, somewhat disgruntled at being called out on Christmas Eve. The searched the house but there was no sign of Maggie Poteet. A young officer by the name of Kenny Jones found the notebook Maggie Poteet had written in. When he picked it up an envelope decorated with candy cane stickers fell out. He read the book and used Maggie Poteet's phone to make some calls.

Soon, Christmas Eve on Holly Street became a flurry of happiness. 

Pam's phone rang, when she answered the voice said, "I'm sorry that I didn't listen. We'd like for you to come back, and we'd like to offer you a raise."

Ava's joyful laughter rang out from down the street as she found the envelope tucked inside the door. She'd be going to her first sleepover party the day after Christmas.

Tracy Foster pulled into her drive. She and the twins rushed into Danny's arms and the happy family went inside.

Later on, Kenny Jones got out of his patrol car with a very excited Rosie and knocked on the Davis Family's door. When it opened, Rosie crashed through, into the waiting arms of Sophie and Emma.

Scooter found a forever home with Pam and her son, who proclaimed this to be the best Christmas Eve ever.

Now, for those of you that stuck with me through this tale that seemed to get longer and longer while taking on a life of its own, you may be wondering what happened to our dear protagonist. Well, I heard from somebody who knew somebody, that knew somebody who may have read on a conspiracy site that....

Maggie Poteet looked around the room at the small people dressed in green. It resembled a courtroom and her eyes drifted up to where one elf sat, who must be the judge.

"Maggie Poteet, for the crime of ruining Christmas, making innocent children cry and for wasting perfectly good whiskey, I sentence you to life in the toy workshop."

Two elves came forward and took her to a room filled with humans assembling toys.

"We got tired of doing all this work with no appreciation." One of them said, "So we decided humans can build their own toys. Of course, we are careful to only take the ones full of meanness and spite, the ones who won't be missed."

The sat her down in an empty chair and left the room. Maggie Poteet looked and with a defiant look thought, "I'm not going to build these stupid toys." She noticed the others were not looking up for from their tasks. She then noticed the people; they were dressed in clothing from different time periods! She gasped when she realized just how long "life" would be.

The elves gathered in a circle under the moonlight, as they began to sing, Maggie Poteet felt an overwhelming urge and picked up a wooden train engine and a small hammer to begin assembling the wheels. She never looked up from her task.

Attached Files

Thumbnail(s)
   

One of the books on Osama Bin Laden's bookshelf was...



The 2030 Spike: Countdown to Global Catastrophe, Published in 2003, available in the CIA library. This looks like an interesting read.





Makes me wonder if they were looking for specific markers (other than Corona/flu) in all those PCR tests we tortured with for 2 years.



Oh yea, those Aussie girls are hot.




Mercy, say it isn't so...


You don't say...





Author's Archived website

The 2030 Spike - PDF copy

1980: Reagan launches his third presidential campaign (1968, 1976, 1980) with a message to "Make America Great Again" at a Jersey City ethnic festival for an anti-communist diaspora including Nazi collaborators who immigrated to the US and worked for Radio Free Europe, which Reagan also praised.



The Ukrainian Weekly (PDF; Sept 7, 1980)

The current and past 3 CEOs of NPR came from VOA radio.

How Trumpism Led To An Ideological War Over Voice Of America

Also, note in that Ukrainian newspaper, on Soviet persecution of the Russian Orthodox Church. The government of Ukraine is now BANNING that church.


Reagan's speech centered on anti-communism, and occurred during a flashpoint in the Polish Solidarity campaign. Their leader's (and future pres) mother immigrated to Jersey City in 1973, and her widower made the front page of the NY Times the same day as Reagan's Labor Day speech.




On Jan 29, 1923, the Fascists Voluntary Militia was formed in Italy under Benito Mussolini. Premier Mussolini was one of the first individuals to create a talking picture according to British Movietone. Here is the footage from 1929, Mussolini Speaks in English with arms clasped - "Make America Great!"

"War!"--today 1941:



Today 1941:



Flag during Pearl Harbor attack today 1941:



New York Times on Pearl Harbor attack:



White House tonight, 1941 after Pearl Harbor attack:



In 1963, JFK visited the USS Arizona Memorial and laid a wreath for those who perished in the attack:



USS Arizona Memorial:

I sailed by the memorial everyday, twice a day (except weekends) for 4 years to/fro Ford Island.


USS Abraham Lincoln, manning the rails near USS Missouri and the USS Arizona Memorial:




Explore the Interactive USS Arizona Memorial

USS Arizona 1962 Memorial Pearl Harbor dedication revisited:






From the book Breaking News: How the Associated Press Has Covered War, Peace, and Everything Else By Associated Press.


LMAO, Commander Spicer (USNR), Newsmax guy:



Trump Calls For "Total And Complete Shutdown Of Muslims Entering U.S. until our country's representatives can figure out WTF is going on." December 7, 2015:

Attached Files

Thumbnail(s)
   

Terry sonday’s brother was killed in an airplane accident on November 25, 2022 near the Galt airport that he owned.
He was flying an extra EA 300LC
He was 75


Like I told everyone IMO that has got to be better than dying in an old folks home.

this aircraft can pull so many "Gs" your heart is libel to be pushed out your butt hole ! Some can pull 25 positive Gs without a breakage



People have no idea how hard some of the maneuvers are on the human body.. You have to start slowly and work you "G" tolerance up. When I first started at 4.5 Gs I would start to get grey out but....it did not take long until I was able to do 6 "Gs" and not even fart !! hahaha

Hilarious story from American Digest...

Quote:by Vanderleun on December 6, 2022

So I’m standing in line in a sandwich shop down San Diego way, waiting to see if two chicken salad sandwiches will yield any change from a $20 (They don’t.) when this guy my pal knows staggers in the door and joins the line. He’s the blonde, aging, and pear-shaped frat-boy type common in the whiter parts of San Diego. He’s on a life pension from his grandparents; something common in these Californicated places. As such he’s an elite member of the Maynard G. Krebs Zero-Work Brigade and not accustomed to reversals of fortune.

Looking at him this AM it is possible to see he is a reasonably good-looking man, but just. This is because, besides a distinct wobbling lurch in his step, he also appears to have gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson in his prime.

His nose is thickened along with the rest of his face, and not just from a lifetime’s love affair with single malt. There’s a huge frresh scab across the bridge of his nose and a larger one crusting-up along the side of his jaw and under his chin giving off a rusty red gleam like some strawberry skid-marks. Both his eyes have large, dark circles around them as if they’ve gotten special attention from a ball-peen hammer, and their expression is that of a man who’s just walked out of a fire-fight in the Afghan hills into a starring role in Lone Survivor.

My pal knows this guy and introduces me. I shake his trembling hand and say, as anyone would, “What happened to you?”

“I had a bad day on Wednesday.”

“Obviously,” said my pal.

“Can I tell you about it?,” he asked.

“Obviously,” said my pal.

“Well, I get up in the morning and go out to the garage for my car. And my car’s condition just.. just… it stops me cold.

”It’s got a flat and the tire that’s flat is the spare that I put on the week before but neglected to replace because, hey, who gets two flat tires in a week, right?

”So I have no spare and have to get the tow truck to come out and take the car to Discount Tire and me to Budget Rent a Car for some wheels. They rent me a car and I drive away for the rest of my day intending to pick my car up in the late afternoon. I do some errands and go home and hang around there for a few hours.

“Finally it’s time to pick up the car and take the rental back. I call the tire shop and they tell me I’m good to go. So I pick up the keys and go out to the car that’s parked at the top of my driveway.

“At some point in my walk, I notice there’s a bee buzzing around my head. Then I notice three bees and then an entire swarm and they are all swooping and diving at me and trying to sting me.”

At this point, the sandwich line and the entire sandwich shop have slowed to a crawl, listening.

“I get stung three times on the forehead, four times on one arm, twice on the other, and six times on my right leg.” (Polo shirts and shorts are the uniform of choice in this town.)

“So I’m whirling around and waving my arms and trying to get to my rental car when I notice that the bee swarm is thickest between me and the car.

“That’s when I decided to do one thing and one ting only. Flee!

“I turn around and still waving my arms all around me begin to run at top speed down the slope of my driveway towards the street about thirty yards away down the slope.

“Running downhill at speed in flip-flops isn’t, I’m here to tell you, a great idea since at some point I feel my hip give and, boom, I perform a perfect face plant in the asphalt.

“The good news is that this seems to throw the bees off since they leave me alone. The bad news is this face. The worse news is that just when I think that I’ll just lie there, phone 911 on my cell and wait for the paramedics since I can’t walk, my hip pops back in and I’m able to sneak around the house, and into the rental and drive myself to the emergency room.”

My pal and I murmur our condolences and gather up our sandwiches.

“Thanks,” he says. “But that’s not the best part.”

“No?”

“Nope. When I came out this morning to go to work, another tire was flat. I walked here and now I’m afraid to go home.”