Street Football with a Watermelon

I went shopping on my own this afternoon after my daily swim. The better half is in bed with a cold. On my travels I picked up a beautiful organic watermelon. By the time I got home the sun had set and it was very cold. Bit by bit I staggered in with my bags. I can only do one at a time as I need the other hand for my stick. The last bag had the swimming gear and the watermelon. As I put the bag down in the snow so that I could close the car door it tipped over and Mr. Melon went for a stroll down the drive and into the street. I tottered after it taking great care on the ice and talking to it like the idiot I am.
Mr. Melon paid no mind and came gently to rest in Victoria St. Now what? I couldn't bend down to pick the wretched thing up as I needed one hand for my stick and that melon was a two hander. So we played a little football, me and Mr. Melon. Bit by gritty and snowy and salty bit I dribbled the bugger up the slope and into the driveway. We made it to the gate where I really had to work to get him over the edge of the pavement. Inch by inch I got him to the back door. By now my ungloved hands were turning white with the cold so even if I had two good legs my hands were useless. I finally got the door open, turned sideways and managed to slide him up and over the threshhold where I promptly slipped on the wet tiles. No damage done it seems to me or Mr. Melon. He's washed now and sitting on the kitchen counter as if butter wouldn't melt.
I think I'll move to Africa.