Recent occurrences have proved to me that truth really can be stranger than fiction.
One moment you could be eating a banana sandwich and thinking all is calm and fairly uneventful, then WHAM! BAM! Something odd or unexpected can almost have you choking on your crusts.
Or even worse, you could be munching a beef burger, but it’s actually horse meat.
In the UK, unbeknown to the innocent consumer, we’ve been buying beef, because it looks like beef, it says beef on the label, but it’s actually horse.
Costs were analysed, people at the top became suspicious of suppliers, tests were carried out, and fears have been confirmed.
In some countries it’s considered normal to scoff on horse. This is fine, if the meat is safe for human consumption, and if the human is fully aware of the contents on their plate.
But it’s not just food which has been full of surprises.
King Richard 111 of England, he who was killed at the battle of Bosworth field in 1485, has been found in a car park in Leicester.
For nearly 600 years Richard lay undisturbed. And for several years cars manoeuvred and reverse parked, unaware of the famous bones below. Then along came a channel 4 television programme, digging commenced, and an announcement stated that through DNA testing, they’ve found the King with the curved spine.
And what about the meteorite which fell to Earth in Russia? Yep, a 10 tonne meteorite plunged to Earth in a series of fireballs, shortly after sunrise.
Nobody saw that coming – until it was too late. (Luckily, over 900 people were injured but no fatalities.)
And I didn’t see something huge and disruptive heading my way either.
Dear readers, I’m sad to report that at the last possible moment imaginable, after fees were paid, surveys carried out, documents signed, and packing commenced, the vendors pulled out from selling our future home.
So we’ve moved out of the polka dot home (it never really belonged to us in the first place), because we had to honour our notice period and the fact a new couple would be moving in.
We are now co-habiting with my father in law, and all our worldly goods are stored in my brother in law’s garage.
It’s not how I thought it would be.
A little bit of our dream has died.
The period property and beautiful grounds we’d imagined ourselves living in have vanished from our world.
The dinner parties I’d planned and the country walks we’d spoken fondly about are no longer feasible.
The second bedroom for guests to stay, and the views of the cricket pitch are not for us.
They’ve all gone, rudely ripped from our grasp, and crumbled into a black hole of everlasting nothingness.