Bless my dotty socks. Bless me and  my crazy urge to bring  harm upon myself. Bless my urge to dance all by myself and do myself a damage.

On Boxing Day morning I was wandering up the stairs dancing to my own theme tune, when thwack! I swung my arm out in a diva kinda fashion at the height of my internal chorus and bashed my right hand so badly I keeled over in a dead faint in a rather fabulous impression of a badly insulted Victorian laydeee…

Pass the smelling salts please.

Then I came to,  threw up and took half an hour to get down the stairs and put in an emergency call to my Dad who arrived on his chariot and delivered me to my Mum, who said "There, there…" and that was the end of the matter. Except that it wasn’t. Because first my typing hand swelled up like a big balloon. And then it went black and blue. And everyday tasks like tying my hair up,  filling the kettle, and writing my shopping lists were stupidly hard but had to be done regardless. And I carried on with all the delights of Christmas and dating and dancing and clapping so hard at a wedding I went green and then a kind of elephant lady deformity appeared and it became apparent that a trip to the minor injuries unit might be called for so I took myself there and wasn’t even remotely surprised when the x-ray lady said, well, well, weelllll, never seen a fracture like this one, how on earth did you manage it? And I explained about my morning dance routine and she said well, perhaps it’s time to lower the volume because you have fractured a bone in your hand and there is a bone in your little finger splitting and  how IN HEAVENS NAME have you been going about your business??

And I said I’m one tough cookie, and she said no you are a broken biscuit, and leaving it for two weeks before you came here was downright silly because the bones are already mending and the finger is splitting and who knows what we are going to do now? And I smiled in a positive fashion and agreed to see a specialist on Thursday and to never type, or write, or breathe again and  yes, it certainly seems like there is no end to my calamitous life….

But never mind. Because there is a splint till Thursday and horrible talk of a cast, and my hand is as gammy as my brain has always been,  but the rest of my world is kind of  scrumptiously happy…

But I’ll tell you all about that next time I see you.