The Perilous Tale Of Why You Should Never Drink Too Much In The Sun With Lovely People And Why Chairs Have Four Legs, Not Two.

Last Sunday we went to Brockwell Park to meet some lovely people from Barbelith. They were so lovely they gave us lots of champagne and wine to drink and strawberries to eat and then when the sun went down and we had tired of sitting in the shade of the trees we transplanted ourselves to the pub and drunk some more.

It was heaps of fun.

Then we went back to my sister's flat and I sat down at the kitchen table, tipped my chair back onto two legs and promptly fell backwards through the kitchen door.

Which was closed.
And made of glass.
And which was unfortunately not safety glass.

Cue much blood from my left hand, we have to call for an ambulance, we have a six hour wait in Lewisham hospital, prodding, poking and head-shaking, referrals to St Thomas's Plastics Department, a four hour wait there, more prodding, more head-shaking and finally an appointment for a general anaesthetic operation the following Friday, in order for them to sew up the nerve, look at the nicked tendon and remove the bit of glass they think is still in my hand. So we're stuck in London, computerless and me handless for a whole week.

So then yesterday they do the operation and I have to be driven home all the way back to Somerset because I can't drive and now my hand is bandaged up and I have a Harry Potter lightning shaped cut from the tip of my ring finger to the palm of my hand.

It hurts.

And I am having to make Tea and to wash and to brush my teeth and to eat and apply my make up and do basically everything with my right hand.

Which as I say is a bit difficult, because I am left handed.

How very dull.

In fact the only nice thing about the whole escapade is that I had an extra week with a lovely person and he nursed me through it all most spectacularly indeed.

So anyway, yes. That's why no posts from me.

Interestingly, everyone has been really kind and helpful about it all with the exception of one person who said when told, "I hope you lose your fucking finger." Which was fairly harsh but totally unsurprising.

And the moral of this story is, I guess: Never, ever go drinking in the sun with delightful people and follow it up by tipping your chair back overly near to dangerous doors.