Wednesday, 13 January 2016


You'd be surprised how inconvenient cheese grating the end of your index finger can be.

So far I've discovered that it renders me useless for chopping vegetables, washing up, painting and in fact doing any kind of cleaning or DIY. (One or two benefits then I guess)

My typing is definitely somewhat hampered. It's five days later and I'm still stretching the capacity of spellcheck somewhat. As evidenced by the fact that the word 'muleteer' just appeared in the middle of my sentence.

I also look weirder than usual. I've been walking around randomly pointing at people like some kind of middle aged ET.

On Monday night I went swimming. The chlorine smarted somewhat but my main problem was the cramp I suffered from holding my breast stroke fingers in a pincer like grip. Which was necessary to avoid the plaster floating off into the deep end.

My dreams are disturbed (or ddstrubed) and involve me frantically trying to protect the end of my fingers from meeting nylon material. I lurch about like I'm being tortured.

Then to top it all off I tried to put Tilly's hair up in a pony tail. Oh the agony. This is way worse than a paper cut. And I got one of those today too.

Clearly I am a long way from being cured. Being 40 seems to slow down the healing process for grater related injuries. At this rate it could take weeks. But the worst thing of all is that now I've removed the plaster it doesn't even look that bad. How the hell am I going to garner further sympathy?

That's it. I'm never grating cheese again.

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