Iceni Columnist Keri Beevis

Embarrassing Moments

When it comes to embarrassing moments, I think we can safely say that I have more than my fair share.

Above: Keri Beevis

So many in fact, that I should perhaps be over the whole being embarrassed thing. But no, my latest tale as red cheeked as ever.

of Beev klutziness left me

I want you to picture in your mind. It was a Sunday night, a time when most people are chilling, maybe watching TV or reading, or perhaps settling down for an early night. Not me. I was up late waiting for my grocery delivery to arrive. As the van rolled up and the young driver climbed out, he apologised that they had run out of plastic bags, so everything would be loose in the crate. Now, that was fine with me. Less plastic is far better for the environment. Our young driver stood by and watched me as I unloaded the crates. Nothing like the pressure of unpacking while being watched, and I was going as quick as I could. He had placed the crates outside my front door, which was fine, as they were stacked on top of one another, but then I got to the bottom crate. Now I should add at this point that I have quite a steep drop down from my front door to the ground, so when I was emptying the bottom crate, I was reaching down way past floor level. The way the crate was positioned I couldn't get out of the house to empty it either. So there I was, reaching for my groceries and I got down to the last few bits, mostly onions and peppers, which were rolling round loose in the bottom of the crate.

And I tipped.

No word of a lie, I lost my balance (blame those great big sandbags attached to my chest) and I fell into

the bloody crate. Mortified doesn't even begin to cover it.

Mr delivery man did an Oscar worthy job of keeping a straight face, commenting that he wished he didn't have to social distance, so he could have helped me up (while probably kicking himself for not having his phone handy to record the moment).

I managed, with great difficulty, to extract myself from the crate, eventually clambering to my feet, and thanking him for delivering my shopping. And then spent half an hour crying with laughter, because honestly, this kind of thing can only possibly happen to me.

I really am a female Frank Spencer.

My crime thriller, D For Dead is available to buy in paperback and Kindle now.

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