Escape from certain death number six

So, I am sprawled under the carob tree on a hammock, which I don't sprawl on often, as being a Scot I was brought up to believe that it is bad to do nothing, and so inevitably feel guilty when doing nothing, which as it happens is fairly high on my list of things to do on a regular basis.
Well, one end of the hammock is attatched to the carob (beware of falling beans) and the other end is attatched to the two meters trunk of an old mimosa tree and as I am cursing the fact that I have ordered a dud book from Amazon by reading a review that assured me it was a page turning, physcological thriller but in fact is about a bunch of wimps who leave London every weekend to spend time at an old country house bequeathed to the biggest wimp of all time. Anyway, they all sleep with each other ,split up, make, break up and then one gets shot and another commits suicide by lying down in an ice pond and we never even get to know if the shot one survives.
Well, anyway this is what I am doing when I heard what sounded like a gunshot and I know what that sounds like because a man up the road got shot by another man because one of the sons kept sitting in the wrong seat of the school bus. I may have mentioned that before.
So, with uncanny Scottish second sight I leaped out of the hammock...but too late...BANG.
The entire mimosa trunk cracks again and keels over exactly in line with me. Thank goodness for hockey training in my youth. I got out of there with half a second to spare. I never thought being a right wing would save me from a crushed ribcage, ha, ha. So, thank you Miss Jenkins