Sure-footed

To those of a squeamish or sensitive nature I apologise.

This pretty picture is my right foot 4 days after I stubbed it entering the shower.

Yes, I know the threshhold was put there for a reason, and no, I wasn't drunk.  It is just the latest in a life-long war with things inanimate.

After a few genteel utterances along the lines of "Oh dear, I appear to have damaged my foot", or something similar, I slathered it in tea-tree cream wrapped it in an old cotton handkerchief and put a 'breathable' plaster around it to protect it from further damage.

After a morning in the parish office, followed by a sizeable shop I got a taxi home and as soon as I was able gave it 'the treatment'.  This is Ray Barnes parlance for soaking about 4 sheets of thick kitchen paper in ice-cold water, squeezing a little of the excess out and wrapping the injured hoof around with a cold compress, foot up on a footstool for an hour or more.

I know it sounds primitive, but it works.

This foot (the right one), has endured a torn achilles tendon, three badly sprained ankles, has been broken twice and is constantly under threat from the chronic carelessness of Mrs fairyfoot.

Some people are said to be accident prone, I am an accident magnet.

When I'm tired I have a tendency to miss the doorway and hit the doorpost, my shoulders are living testament to that fact.  I also misjudge distances and drop things and smash things instead of reaching the surface intended.

If this sounds a bit 'Calamity Kate', it is sadly, only too true.

In a long ago post I wrote (affectionately) of my late father's propensity for accidents, his general clumsiness and the brute force with which he tackled the most delicate of tasks.  It would seem something must have rubbed off on me.

This being the third accident in the space of about three weeks, I am hoping things will now settle down and my personal gremlin will have a nice long holiday.

P.S.   Don't click to enlarge the photo.