Banished by the Stomper. A story about determination.

As my brother is confirmed as the preferred child in the family and also gets dibs on all the best groceries it was of no surprise to me upon getting sick with a mild case of the 'common' that i was banished by my mother, aka the Morning Stomper, to my bedroom so as to not infect my brother with my ailment. It was understandable as he did admittedly have a very important race coming up, and as he is one of the best 1500 metre runners for his age in the country, there is no way that I wanted to jeopardise any chance that at least one of the children in this family could do some achieving. This would bring up the family average, and keep the Morning Stomper satisfied with the level of her offsprings productivity, and therefore make her less likely to come in and shout at me for spending time in the middle of the day sitting in the lounge watching old Macgyver episodes.

I consider this bad juju and really feel like my 'mellow' is 'being harshed' when the Stomper comes in with flailing arms and words flying while I am sitting there trying to enjoy one of the greatest TV series ever created, or what I like to call a 'Shakespearianesque drama'. Especially when it is on on a monday afternoon after I have had a tiring weekend, and even more especially when it is one of my favourite ever Macgyver episodes 'Trumbo's World' AKA the one set in Brazilian Amazonia where massed colonies of billions of soldier ants take out anything in their path including humans, cattle, trees and whatever. It is totally awe inspiring and in M.H.O (my humble opinion) the best Macgyver episode ever to air - (not including any episodes which has the international assassin 'Murdoc' in them - Macgyver's nemesis. For these always work out to be the best episodes by a county mile).
this is him below looking totally awesome and reasonably evil.

But I digress, the point is, when I am trying to get in the zone and soak up some culture, I don't need the Stomper giving me a bad buzz or any 'heat'. So this is why it is good that my brother gets out there and runs, and achieves, and levels the balance of the universe inside this little house we all live in, because I would do it for him if i could run. Also he owes me because the last time I stuck up for him in front of the Stomper we were both punished and had to carry bits of wood from the yard down into the bush at 8:45 at night. Which was admittedly, pretty annoying.
Soon after the Macgyver incident, where i was sent to my room anyway, I got the aforementioned dose of the 'common'. That is short for the common cold, in case you are total idiot who didn't pick up on that.
My 'common' was quite mild, but the Stomper insisted that I would stay in my room until my brother left for Wellington 3 days later. I was allowed out to use the bathroom, but only if I took bacterial wipes with me to wipe down all surfaces around the taps and door handles, and even though she didn't say it, I knew she would prefer if i held my breath on my way down the hallway.
My meals were brought to me in my room and usually passed through as small a crack as possible, and I was told 'we must keep you contaminated', even though i'm pretty sure she meant 'quarantined'.
I think the 'Pièce de résistance' of this whole caper was when my brother came to the door of my room wearing a doctors or 'sars' mask to give me a glass of berocca sent from the Stomper in a bid to speed up my recovery.
The door opened a minimal crack and his hand placed the fizzing cup on the table and then withdrew, still peering in.
'Drink it' he said to me in a muffled SARS mask wearing voice.
'What the hell are you wearing on your face?'
'A SARS mask'
'Where did you get that from?'
'Don't talk to me you're contaminated'
'Seriously, did mum get you that to wear around me?'
'Correct.'
I laughed uncontrollably for around one minute and could tell he was also smirking at the hilarity of the situation under his SARS mask.
'You look like a real idiot with that thing on you know'
'Yeah well at least I am not confined to a room with AIDS or Ebola or whatever the hell it is you have got.'



'It is the common'
'Yeah well you are starting to remind me of the weird albino from Benchwarmers who is afraid to leave the house.'
'Yeah well tell the Stomper to either a) let me out of the room, or b) lend me the car so I can go somewhere.'
'She won't lend you the car for fear of contamination, I don't blame her really. Why don't you get out of the house on roller blades like you used to in the 90s?'
'Yeah well mum probably gave my blades away to a chinese family around the road like she did with all my toys.'
'Drink the berrocca. And don't talk to me. You're contaminated. Night'
'Night'
I did drink the Berrocca. And it kept me awake until around 4am, but I didn't really care because I had plenty to do between reading the Motley Crue autobiography, ringing the Guthy Renker infomercials call free number, and looking on the internet every now and then to see if there had been any new animal faceoff battles loaded up on youtube.