Running out of petrol on the road trip of the year.

The man has banged his head a lot of times: on the lintel over the door where he lives, on a tree branch, on the side of the car, on other people’s heads, and on the wall behind the  pillow where his head should be when he sleeps.

But only on two occasions has he felt comically stupid for doing so.

Once was in Spain over twenty years ago, in the mountains in a small village shop that sold a lot of things other than the cheese he had stooped for to fill his baguette.

Like ham.

Big legs of ham.

They hung from the ceiling – he must have seen them when he walked into the shop, in fact I think he ducked.

But by the time he had tasted the choices and then paid for the cheese, all thought of ham had long since become something that was behind him.

Literally.

So he turned and walked straight into them.

The second time was more recent, in his hometown.

In the toilet.

He walked into the light that hung from the ceiling by a cable and which had a fine tin shade around it so the resulting ‘twang’ was satisfyingly cartoonish and carried to the people sitting in the bar.

Because he was so surprised, he walked into it again, and turning caught it a third time.

He had to check.

When not in contact with his bonce, the lamp was level with his nose.

Maybe the toilet was designed by the Spanish?