One Of The Many Reasons Why My Wife Thinks I'm Frank Spencer

OK, here goes my tale of woe.

A few years ago I brought a chainsaw home from work (I can hear you all moan "Why give Garry a chainsaw?").

Well, in the end I didn't use it because the blade was f**king blunt. Instead I had the brainstorm of using a circular saw and the first two trees came down a treat.
At this point my wife, Paula, went inside to make a call and I got a bad case of 'I'm an overconfident arsehole, watch me do this f**ker on my own'

So, off I set with the sawing and the wedge is cut without a f**king hitch and I'm thinking 'I'm the Motherf**king God of the tree fellers, OH YEAH, BABY!'

I move around to do the final cut and realise I can't get the saw in due to another trunk. As I step back to think, a big ass f**king gale comes out of nowhere. That c**t, Mother Nature, has decided to bring me down a peg or two.

The tree I'm working on creaks and groans and starts to fall...The wrong f**king way. If it goes my extension is going to become an arbouritum.

I shouted for Paula but got no reply and primal instinct took over.

What did I do?

What clever idea did I come up with?

I climbed the next tree and wedged myself between it and the falling one to halt disaster. Trapped I called again for Paula... and again as the wind continued to buffet me and the trees.

Twenty minutes later Paula comes out and asks. "Did you shout, dear...cup of coffee?"

My reply was a barrage of four letter words and curses to all the Gods and a plea for the long handled sledge hammer sat in my office (Don't f**king ask).

"It's next to the filing cabinet," I yelled and Paula ran in, only to return with...

"Which filing cabinet?"

"The one with the F**king huge hammer next to it," I snarled.

This time I am saved as Paula returned with said hammer and passed it up to me. I used the handle as a lever and was able to relax on my perch and stop my legs shaking.

"What now?" Paula shouted.

We spent the next thirty minutes converting a loft ladder into 'a stop the f**king tree falling device' with the help of my eldest son, Ray.
This device then allowed me to climb higher and tie of a rope at a decent point. I threw the ends down to Paula and Ray and told them to pull from their respective places to the left and right whilst I climbed down and got a smaller saw to make the final cut.

With the cut made and the tree, partnered with the wind, threatening to pull Paula and Ray with it I ran over and assisted Ray with a final pull.

Now, in a perfect world, the tree would have fallen between the two sets of pullers. This, however, is my f**king world and the tree began to fall towards Ray and myself.

I turned to run and collided with Ray, pushing him to what I hoped was safety just as the tree landed on the top of my f**king head and forced all it's weight down into my knees. The right knee (having taken some shit over the years) went f**king POP and I was on the floor screaming, but the tree was gone.

Ignoring my pleas for pain relief and my curses of "C**ty, f**king, twat, bollocks and cock," Paula leaped over me screaming for Ray.

I rolled over to see what all the fuss was about and saw only Ray's backside and legs sticking out from under the tree.

"RAY, RAY," Paula screamed.

"I'm good," came the reply. "But get this f**king tree off me."

With Ray saved they tried to move me, but I was a soldier and said "Just leave me here and get me a ciggie."

Paula returned with the smoke only to find me laid on my side, cock in hand, taking a piss.

"What?" I shrugged. "I've been holding it a f**king hour."

And that is how I f**ked my knee up. The doctor says I've torn the spongy cushion within the knee joint and it's got two choices. Either heal OK or not OK.
The not OK will require surgery.

Oh, well. That's f**king life.