Ouch!

I am not generally an accident-prone person. Partly this is because I am not a natural risk-taker and therefore rarely put myself in a position that could cause me any sort of physical harm, like parachuting, snow-boarding or cobra-baiting.

And partly it is because I am a perfectionist, and broken and damaged things do offend mine eye, and that includes breaking and damaging me. And so far I have avoided Death by Cat on the Stairs despite their best efforts to take me out first thing in the morning when I am still orientating myself and haven't quite got around to putting on my glasses. 

However, 2013 is turning into the Year of Accidental Damage to Denise. Last month I took a spectacular tumble from a very tall bed in a shepherd's hut resulting in the bruise of all bruises. Last week I dropped a breeze block on my foot. About the same time I pulled my right Achilles tendon (although not as badly as I did a couple of years ago when I thought it would be a good idea to try jogging - NOT!) Yesterday, I spent over three hours vigorously scrubbing the winter crud off the wooden garden furniture after which my right scrubbing hand seized into a claw shape, and developed an excruciating pain which, by half one in the morning had spread up my wrist, to my elbow and on to my shoulder rendering me unable to sleep. 

And this morning I dropped a Stanley knife blade on my foot. The same foot that received the breeze block. Only this time I wasn't wearing garden clogs and socks. I was bare foot.

Well, it was all a bit much. I hopped to the kitchen sink to get some paper towel to stem the blood, and as I grabbed the roll it slipped from my grasp and rolled across the floor, unravelling itself a la Andrex puppy-style. In a fit of pique, I grabbed the roll and (Lord knows what made me do this) I unravelled the  rest of the paper and wrapped it round my head! And then I stood in the middle of the kitchen, mummified in paper towel, puffing and snorting whilst Andy stopped laughing long enough to find and administer a sticking plaster to my poor damaged foot.

I think, in hindsight, that it was a rather extreme reaction to me having to spend most of my life being calm and patient. My self-control button was caught unawares. And to be honest, if you can't have a kitchen roll-related hissy fit in the comfort of your own kitchen, where can you? 

All things considered, I didn't  think it would be wise to go to the allotment today...in case I fell in the river, speared myself with a gardening fork or got involved in some kind of mare's-tail rage, so I did gardening at home instead - planted on some cucumbers, beans, parsley and tomatoes into their final growing receptacles, sowed lettuce, rocket and basil, weeded the herb garden and gazed adoringly at the new lawn. 

And my arm is better, and my Achilles' tendon has calmed down and the scab on the breeze block injury is tantalising close to being ready for peeling! 

Now all I need to do is brace myself to remove the plaster from the Stanley blade cut...