Last year a family friend of ours had a very close run-in with a bullet.
As in, if the shock waves hadn’t moved the carotid artery out of the way, he wouldn’t be around to tell the story close run-in with a bullet.
He’d been OS in a dangerous place for several months by then, and it had been in my mind to send him a box of Anzac Biscuits made with my grandma’s recipe to remind him of home.
Except I never quite got around to it.
And before we knew it, he was being flown home first class with his own nurse, (who was hot and evidently thought he was too, and seemed to require he be treated without his shirt on at all times) and I was delivering Anzac Biscuits to his hospital room instead.
This gent became a family friend through our brother, whom he met because they have a special love and affinity for dangerous activities. They’re adrenalin junkies, generally a sarcastic bunch with rather a macabre wit.
Which explains why he could get away with saying ‘make sure you actually send some Anzac Biscuits to your brother. You don’t want to have the same regret twice.’
And so I bid you adieu people, I’ve got biscuits to make.
Have a great weekend folks, may next week be calmer than its predecessor!