Alarm!

Yesterday I was reading a book, sitting in a chair in pool of light. I felt a sharp and very unpleasant pain on the skin of my stomach. Shocked, my hand flew to the painful spot, and I felt a crack. What was happening? Had I acquired some vile pustule since the morning?

I'd been concentrating heavily on the book; in my head I'd been in Glasgow with the protagonists, dreading the next move that was surely going to land them in Big Trouble.

But this was terrible! I stood up and walked through to the bathroom to investigate. 

I fumbled with my jumper. Then I stopped in my tracks. What a fool. I'd been eating potato crisps and obviously one had dropped down inside my clothes and had sharply stabbed me as it cracked in half.

This is what it feels like to have a built-in 'fool factor' that overshadows anything noble or clever that I might ever achieve in my life.