I've never broken any of the bigger bones in my body. I've
done the odd finger and a bone in my foot once (car engines are surprisingly
heavy) but nothing serious. I'd actually not broken anything at all for quite
some time. It wasn't something that I was complacent about, I didn't invite
danger to come and try breaking a part of me just for the fun of it but it was
something that I thought of occasionally. I've not broken a bone in my body for
about twenty-five years.
My record has recently been broken. Snapped in two.
Shattered. And so has my little toe.
It was my own fault, totally. I did something stupid, so
ridiculous and dangerous that I'd urge everyone to think twice before trying
it. Send your granny or even a loved one to do it instead. It could end up
breaking your toe.
I emptied my bin.
I know, it was a foolish thing to do, especially as it meant
going through my back door - the same back door that I've had for decades
without incident. So how come I chose that moment to ram my little toe into it
at full force? How come I didn't just put my foot through the gap instead of
catching the frame? I've no idea. The only excuse I can think of is… erm…
no, I'm empty on that one. I guess it's one of those things that they
call "an accident". You know, those things that solicitors who
advertise on daytime television don't believe exist.
There was a sickening crunch. There was a pathetic
whimpering sound. The world spun and greyed out for a second. Then there was a
wobbly thud as I plonked myself onto a kitchen stool. The bins would have to
wait.
My Beloved was (as ever) a star in a moment of crisis. She
ministered hugs and strapping and delicately eased it back into position. How
toes can point at such strange angles is beyond me. Weird angle, weird size
(the swelling was almost immediate) and weird colour.
You know how many of us have been looking (in vain) for the
Northern Lights this past week? How the aurora was supposed to send streaks of
yellow, green and purple throughout the heavens but eventually didn't show? I
know why. It must have got a dodgy satnav like the ones they sell on Barnsley
market because it was way off line. Instead of sending its magical markings
into the skies it had sent them across my foot. It was, I have to admit, quite
beautiful. If you discount the pain. Strangely enough I had a little trouble
doing that at the time but a couple of bottles of Old Speckled Hen soon
rectified that situation and I eventually appreciated the artistry that my body
had wrought. Who needs tattoos?
There was nothing to be done of course. It's not like I
could go to hospital and get it set. No, I just had to keep it strapped and
grin & bear it. And make sure that my Beloved took the bins out from then
on. It was a little inconvenient but after a few days it wasn't too bad at all.
Until I thumped it again.
This time was completely my own fault. If I'd moved the box
that she'd been asking me to do for a few days then I wouldn't have had to limp
around it when I went to close the curtains. And if I hadn't have stumbled when
doing so then I wouldn't have slipped and kicked the wooden leg of my sofa.
Same toe: same result. This time the whimper was louder with a touch of anger,
but the pain and discolouration was just as vivid. How could I have done it
again? Decades without any trouble and now two cases of the crunchies in a
week. It was ridiculous.
But not as ridiculous as walking into a bookshelf the very
next day. I almost screamed this time. I was certainly reduced to hopping and
swearing. Same toe: worse result. It had had enough by now and decided that it
had to take matters into its own… er… toe. It swelled up protectively. Within
an hour it was almost the size of my big toe and the nail had turned black. If
Dulux had a colour chart called "Acid Trip" then I think that they'd
pasted one over the end of my foot .I'm sure that you're smiling but it wasn't
funny. Stop it, it's not.
It's like my house and the furniture in it are magnetised.
They seem to be pulling my shredded toe towards them in a manner that they never
have done before. Maybe they're haunted. Maybe the house hates me for that one
accidental missed mortgage payment. Maybe I'm just getting clumsy in my old
age.
Oh, and if you're wondering about the title of this piece it
refers to the old joke…
A man walks into a café and says, "Gimme a crocodile
sandwich, and make it snappy".
© Shaun Finnie 2014
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