Toe trauma

Stubbed toe

 
You rushed along,
You were too quick!
Your toe stuck out a little bit.

Your foot missed its mark
And caught the frame.
That bloody floor-polish was to blame.

You see toe strike.
You feel sick.
The clock holds back its final tick.

You stare in horror
As time slows down.
The air grows thick and close around.

You see toe crumple
At a monstrous angle.
Bits of nail appear to dangle.

You grit your teeth.
Blood at temple pounds
Blotting out all other sounds.

You know what’s coming
But all stays still.
Can pain be deferred by pure act of will?

A second’s grace
Seems to stretch for hours
As you invoke your superpowers.

But a clock’s second-hand
Won’t long be stayed
And the next minute thereby is now displayed.

As pain explodes
Your tears are streaming.
You’re surprised to note some distant screaming.

One single thought
Now ousts all others;
A piece of sagely advice of Mother’s.

What did she say
When we were nippers?
Do not run, and wear your slippers!
 

You’re in trouble

Yogi meowing

The vet says that Yogi needs to have his urine tested for kidney function.
We have to use special cat litter in a tray and shut him in with it until he goes.
The urine will then float on top of litter to be syringed off and brought back to the vet within 12 hours.

Are you taking the piss? I asked him.
No, but you will be, he replied.

Naked jogging

Bum crack

Top life hack. Buy tracksuit bottoms that are slightly too long in the leg for you and you’re treading on the ends.

When you climb the stairs to bed you will find that the bottoms have removed themselves for you along with your pants, saving time in getting straight into bed.

You’re the one I want, money!

Igotbills

 
 
 
With apologies to Grease…
 

I got bills, they’re multiplying
And I’m losing control.
For the power they’re supplying
The cost is terrifying!

 
Better earn more, ’cause I need a break
In the best of Monaco’s hotels.
Better earn more, more than a crude-oil Sheikh
To buy this jacket with gold lamé lapels;
And the matching earrings won’t buy themselves.

You’re the one I want
You are the one I want
Oh Oh Oh, money!
You’re the one I want
You are the one I want
Oh Oh Oh, the one that I need
Oh yes indeed!

I got pipes, the seals are leaking,
And my roof is pouring rain!
I got chairs whose springs are peeking
And my bum will never be the same.

Better earn more, ’cause I have expensive taste;
Pâté de foie gras washed down with Krug Champagne.
Better earn more, every year I have my boobs replaced
And my face pumped with polyurethane;
It doesn’t last, but numbs the pain.

You’re the one I want
You are the one I want
Oh Oh Oh, money!
You’re the one I want
You are the one I want
Oh Oh Oh, the one that I need
Oh yes indeed!

Sound not found

Soundhound

Tried to find the name of a tune that’s driving me mad by humming at Soundhound song recognition app. One suggestion was “No idea” by a Japanese singer and another was “Speak my language” by the Cure.

I think it’s being sarcastic.

A crutch a day keeps the bus away

Broken arm

Now that time is passing – and the swelling, if not the pain, reducing – I can look back on the funnier aspects of the day I broke my arm and snapped the tendons in my knee.

One stand-out is the hospital nurse who fitted my leg splint and gave me crutches. My memory of the encounter is something like this:
 
 
 

Her: Now that your leg’s splinted, here are your crutches. I’d like them both back at the end, please.

Me: Thank you, but as I’ve broken my arm I can only use one.

Her: Yes, I appreciate that, but you must take both.

Me: But I have only one functioning arm. I only need one crutch and, in any case, I can only physically carry one.

Her: Yes, I appreciate that, but you must take both. And I’d like them both back at the end.

Me: But I can’t take both, I have only one functioning arm.

Her: Yes, I appreciate that, but I need them both back at the end and if you only take one I can’t have both of them back at the end.

Me: Fine. Shall I shove the second one up my arse so I can carry it too? (This last only in my head, I must admit).

Her: How did you break your arm?

Me: I tripped running for a bus.

Her: You should never run for a bus. I ran for a bus once and tripped and fell under the wheels and it drove off. I have never run for anything since.

Me: Is that because of all the extra crutches you have to carry?

Her, confused: Hmmm?

Me, to Graham who has just entered the room: Graham can you take this spare crutch please?

Graham: But you only need one, your arm is broken.

Me: I know, I know, please just take it. We can put it in the cupboard – they don’t have any cupboards here. Goodbye!

Her: Goodbye! Don’t run for buses!