I’ve commented in the past about falling off the internet bicycle - somehow not finding the time to keep up with anything, or catch up with anybody. I’ve decided that I’ve not so much fallen off the bicycle than mislaid it completely. Perhaps it was actually stolen? I could use that as an excuse.
Yes. That’s it. The reason you haven’t seen me around so much in recent weeks and months is because somebody stole my internet bicycle. I would very much like it back, if anybody sees it. Perhaps I should put some signs on nearby street corners?
Somebody put a picture of cat on the lamp-post at the end of our driveway a few weeks ago - a little black and white cat that had gone missing. I always wonder if people go and take those signs back down if the animal is found. I wonder if they realise that we will all wonder for months if the animal in question got home in the end…
I don’t have much to share, but I’m going to share it anyway.
I almost cut my own leg off last night. While that might be a slight exaggeration, when you hear the actual story, you might agree with me.
I was busy firing up my work computer yesterday morning when I heard an enormous crash in the kitchen. The night before, one of the kids had stacked several plates filled with leftover pizza in the fridge (I know… what is this “leftover pizza” nonsense?). Anyway - our eldest daughter’s boyfriend had stayed over, and was getting ready for work in the morning. He looked in the fridge, and the booby-trapped pizza slid out onto the floor - smashing the plates it was on spectacularly.
I arrived mid-clean up, and retreated back to “the office” to carry on with work. After work that night, I wandered into the lounge - bare foot, as I usually am - and something incredibly sharp stuck in the bottom of my foot. It turns out it’s quite difficult to see the bottom of your own foot - I contorted this way and that, trying to grab my foot, and hold it up such that I could see it. I discovered a shard of pottery from one of the smashed plates embedded in the heal of my foot, and pulled it out.
As I walked over to the corner of the kitchen where we keep plasters and antiseptic cream, my other half started shouting at me - I was leaving a trail of blood on the floor. Here’s the thing - it wasn’t my foot that was leaving the trail of blood.
When I swung my leg around to get a look at the bottom of my foot, the shard of pottery - while still embedded in my foot - had sliced across my leg - leaving such a sharp cut that the blood didn’t start to appear for some time - and then it did - beading up, and running down my leg like a waterfall.
I grabbed kitchen towel (and got shouted at for that too), and started to put myself back together. Rather than leave red footprints everywhere, I was ordered to the sofa by my daughters while they fetched improvised items to stop the bleeding - including an enormous plaster.
The plaster fell off in the shower this morning, and miraculously my leg hasn’t fallen off. I reckon it was a pretty close run thing though.
I wonder what I’ll manage to do to myself next?