One by one, she fumbled to pick the few stray onions and pickles that still clung to my shirt and shorts like stranded climbers."Oh no! Oh no! Oh nooo...oo! Mister, I am so sorry," she cried as her mustard covered fingers then pressed against her face in horror.We stood looking at each, blinking. Everyone around us stood silent, waiting to see the drama unfold."At least I'm not the only one dressed like this," I said with a smile as I pointed to splatters of red and yellow that dotted the front. She rose to the occasion, took over with a professional tourniquet which let me rise from my bloody duties and see to Em, who had come round, but was as weak as a kitten, and couldn't stop crying. I helped her onto a chair by the back door, wrapped her in a blanket, and while Carol called the ambulance and the police, I yanked off my blood soaked t-shirt and mini-skirt, and raced around the house semi-naked, on a mission of concealment. I briefed Em and Carol as best I could in the. More

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