The screw with a touch of 'croc', some of which might still be in my foot.
A week last Friday. A fine moment for an autumn tidy. Beware the remnants of the wind-swept balcony. Wisteria tamed, for this year. Timid montana in retreat. A second attempt at gathering leaf fall. It'll need another. Next year's mulch looks promising. How many more years will I be doing this?
So, for now, going well, but ...
Pain, and unbelief, no protection from stupid crocs. Rapid retreat to the nurse childbride. Google and the chemist - tetanus and antibiotics. Don't ring 111. Nurse in gp surgery didn't turn a hair. And regular dressings of course, and foot up, don't bear weight, drive or do anything upright.
One afternoon, whilst the childbride was out with her eating and drinking chums, I read a book.
Stupidity is the first thought. To leave the plank of wood, to not see it, to not wear foot protection. Clumsiness is my middle name, and not improving with age. So no change there.
The second thought was are there any benefits from illness and injury? For a short time only! Would anyone wish to be troubled for longer? A hell of a question.
The injured sole; swollen, red, sore - my training tells me my life is
A lot better now.
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