The Pointless Incident with the Kayaks

Alfred von Hatten left the warmth of his London flat and stepped out on to the street.
He made his way towards the gleaming blue Porsche 911 - the latest model, sitting low on its sports suspension and looking unnecessarily fast, even stood still - and paused to admire its sleek lines for the hundredth time.
Alfred von Hatten walked past the Porsche and got into his Rover Metro.

The Metro, like the Porsche, also sat low on its suspension, but the reason for this was that most of the springs were broken, rusty, or pre-17th century examples made from paper. The closest it ever came to looking mean was the expression which often crossed Alfred's face when small children pointed and laughed.

Now would be a good time to point out that a lie has been told. Alfred did not in any way 'get into' his Rover Metro, and this was because there was a kayak in the driver's seat. The kayak was small, metal and entirely unexpected.
Alfred was not in the mood to argue with anyone, or indeed anykayak, today, so he nodded at the kayak through the broken window and walked round to the passenger side door and sat down. Vague confusion stirred in his tired head. Still very much not in the mood, he glared angrily at the kayak as if his angry stare would get rid of it, and as if it wouldn't be easier to simply pick it up and remove it.

The glaring had almost as much effect as a lemon would have on a rampaging elephant.

The kayak was nearly one foot long and made of a shiny, chromed metal. It was spiky at each end, and contained absolutely nothing, once Alfred had removed the model Penguin from inside of it.
He studied the Penguin. What could this mean? Alfred was suspicious. How could this have come to be sat in his Metro? Alfred was confused. He looked at the very nearly completely broken driver's side window and was less confused, if only a little. But suspicious he remained. He considered the possibility that he could have been dreaming, but this was unlikely - more often than not, when he dreamt, he was sat in the Porsche rather than the Metro.

After sitting and glaring and thinking and pondering, Alfred swept all of his inner reluctance under the badly-kept carpet of his courage and seized the kayak with both hands.

This action had two of the following three results:
One: Alfred injured one of his hands.
Two: The kayak ceased to exist.
and Three: An elephant fell over in a pleasantly-lit location on the African plains.

The results brought about by the seizure of the kayak by Alfred were, by and large, the first two listed.
The third happened not because Alfred grabbed the kayak, but because the elephant in question had spotted an inexplicably large lemon directly blocking the path of his rampage. The fall of this great beast had many consequences, none of which are very interesting - so we will return to Alfred, who is currently bleeding on his Rover Metro.

Alfred bled on his Rover Metro.
He did this not out of choice, but because he didn't think that he'd be granted permission to bleed on the Porsche down the road.
He gathered his senses and came to the conclusion that his best option was to walk back to his flat and treat his wound, which is what he did.

Or, rather, he nearly did.
When Alfred reached his front (and, indeed, only) door he used his non-bleeding hand to work the doorknob in the usual fashion and was startled to find that his round, smooth doorknob had lacerated his hand quite viciously, and he now proudly boasted two bleeding hands.
Alfred glanced downwards at his hands. Then he glanced past the aforementioned hands and tried not to faint at what he saw.
What Alfred saw was that instead of a doorknob, there was another razor-sharp imitation kayak protruding from his door, where the doorknob usually lived.

Having tried for several seconds not to faint with sheer confusion, Alfred failed.
[/27/05/04/]
Two hours later, Alfred was awake. He was dimly aware that it had been his original intention to go to work at some point during the day, however in his present state he thought it best not to.
His hands hurt, and he knew why.
He'd gotten blood on the floor of the corridor outside his flat. It was sticky and congealed and unpleasant, so he did his best to stand up and get away from it.
Once again, Alfred found himself confronted by a kayak. This was nothing new, although he had hoped that by some mysterious force the spiky metal object would have been removed by a passing kayak removal man or a kindly doorknob technician. This, on reflection, seemed unlikely.

Alfred took off his jacket and wrapped it around his hand. Tenderly, he grasped the kayak and turned - it operated just as his usual doorknob did, but with added pain and discomfort.
He walked into the flat, his mood lifted slightly by being home. Immediately he turned to inspect the inner door handle, and as he did so he stepped on something hard which would have caused him yet more pain, had he not cunningly put on his shoes before he left that morning.
At first, he thought it was a spoon. For no very readily apparent reason, Alfred seemed to have a habit of dropping spoons on his kitchen floor after he'd finished using them, so he was justified in his suspicion.
Unfortunately for Alfred's diminishing sanity, it was a small model Penguin. He violently thrust his hand into his pocket and retrieved the Penguin whcih he had discovered in his car several hours earlier, and held the two before his wide eyes in disbelief.

Alfred went to the cupbaord and poured himself a very, very strong drink.