Local man, Martin Shuttlecock had been enjoying a civilised afternoon get together with a couple of his writer friends when through his innate stupidity/lack of awareness, he became unwittingly involved in an untimely accident.
With one of the friends having departed for home, Shuttlecock and his remaining buddy were heading for the tube station at Euston Square, when Shuttlecock, upon turning to look for his companion (who had nipped off to respond to a call of nature) when as he turned, still in mid-stride, he walked face first into a lamp post, or some other sort of pole.
As he took action to arrest his fall, Shuttlecock stuck out a hand. When Shuttlecock's friend reappeared, he found the local man dazed, in pain and bleeding from a cut eyebrow.
An ambulance was summoned and Shuttlecock was transported to the hospital.
Friday evenings in a central London A&E Department can be a little busy. But there was at least some in-house entertainment, consisting mainly of some Eastern European chap who for some reason found it necessary to keep rolling around on the floor, screaming his head off.
For some reason, the Metropolitan Police took exception to his act and insisted on removing him from the premises. But he insisted on keep coming back for an encore - much to the cheery delight of two cheery Cockney characters who were vocally enthusiastic about his performance.
Four stitches to the eyebrow later, Shuttlecock was taken to have his injured hand x-rayed. To Shuttlecock's alarm, the thumbnail was turning a kind of translucent shade of turquoise. Treatment was administered, cosisting of needles and thread, and antibiotics given.
Then Shuttlecock was released. By this time it was after midnight and all the trains had stopped running. So Shuttlecock enlisted the assistance of a chirpy Cockney cabbie, a proper one, with The Knowledge.
Hotel trips in search of a room for the remainder of the night proved fruitless on account of Shuttlecock probably looking like he'd been in a fight, so the helpful cabby dropped him off at Waterloo Station - which was closed to keep out the riff-raff (such as Shuttlecock) so he went to an all-night burger van underneath the railway arch and bought coffee.
There, he was engaged in conversation by a Frenchman from Marseilles, who was waiting for the first train back to Wimbledon, an ex-convict with all his worldly possessions who was waiting for the first train to anywhere so he could sleep on it, and a young lad on his way back to uni, who had what could best be described as 'issues.'
When the station opened, Shuttlecock, the ex-con, and the young lad had coffee and went their seperate ways. Shuttlecock confided in this reporter that he was somewhat irked at having to shell out for another train ticket.
He eventually arrived home at 8am Saturday morning and went for a really long sleep. We asked him if, given his accident prone nature and innate eccentricity he would consider repeating the exercise.
An extremely dapper looking Shuttlecock, with his stitched up eyebrow, black eye and deformed hand told us:
"Oh yes. But preferably without the blood and the pain part."
Long suffering wife, Anne, simply shook her head and said:
"I don't know. What am I going to do with him?"
More as we get it.