(At this point I do not want to alarm my Mum, so I am going to say 'I am okay, Mum - do not be alarmed!')
And so I continue...
...so last weekend found Andy and me in Suffolk, in a shepherd's hut, doing a spot o' glamping. 'Twas Andy's birthday, and we have decided that we are of an age where we don't really want to be spending money on birthday tat so we're going to spend money on birthday weekends away instead. It was a bit of a posh shepherd's hut - massive bed, wood burning stove, private shower room, set in a woodland area, all very nice.
Except the peace and stillness of the first night was disturbed by the branches of the tree hanging over the hut scraping against the roof in a teeth-edging 'eeek, eeeek, screeeeeeekkkkk,' kind of way.
So the next day, we decided to take action. Of course, sensible glampers would have called the owners of the hut and said, 'Please could you come out today with a saw and sort out these over-hanging tree branches,' but Andy and I were high on the excitement of a visit to Sutton Hoo, not to mention seeing pigs in fields and a kookaburra, so we thought, 'We can deal with a tree branch. We are allotmenteers! We have collected swarms of bees! We have no fear of the natural world. Except bears, maybe.'
So Andy went outside the hut, and I stood on the bed and hung from the small window in order to grab the branch and bend it down towards Andy as far as possible so he could grab it and snap it off at the screechy point.
Now, the important thing you need to know about the bed upon which I was standing is that it was taller than your average bed. It was what I call a 'Princess and the Pea' bed. At least three feet high. Could have done with a step ladder to climb up on it, but a gentle vault sufficed. But it was tall. Very tall.
Anyway, I leant from the window, grabbed the branch, bent it down towards Andy, who hung on to it for grim death. So far so good. The screeching stopped. And I thought, 'I'll go outside and help Andy break the branch.'
And then, dear reader, I performed what I can only describe as the most stupid manoeuvre of my life. To this moment I still do not know of what I was thinking.
I decided that it would be a good idea to step, from my standing position, BACKWARDS off the bed in one step to the floor.
Now doing this from a standard height bed could be deemed as being marginally stupid, but from a bed of enormous height? I realised, as I plunged backwards, in what seemed to be slow motion, that this had to go down as the most stupid idea I have had for, oh, at least twenty eight years.
I flailed wildly in an attempt to save myself. I hit the floor standing, then lost balance and ricocheted into the chest of drawers which bore enormous knobs. I rebounded off the chest of drawers across the hut and back into the bed. I seem to remember at this point I may have sworn a bit.
Andy said from outside the hut it sounded very spectacular. He found me sprawled on the bed, going 'Ow, ow, ooooow!' Or something like that.
I have a bruise the size of a side plate on my right upper arm. It bloody hurts. I have been covering it up with a variety of cardigans all week in order to avoid awkward questions being asked at work.
I am such an idiot.
On more positive notes, we had the first harvest from our allotment today - lovely rhubarb! The allotment is looking good. Potatoes, beans and shallots are in, strawberries, beetroot , parsnips, carrots and radish going in tomorrow. Tomatoes, cucumbers, more beans and aubergines are taking over the greenhouse. A landscaper man has been secured to sort out the patio, renew the fence and returf the lawn in the back garden. Pandora is making steady steps towards better health, and I have been offered a full time contract at my school to carry on tutoring for another year.
Now, if only I could find some anti-stupid medicine...