The First Cut is the Deepest...

Among my many talents (and clearly someone who writes a blog as witty and entertaining as this is very very talented) is a great ability to be clumsy. So much so, that as a child if anything got dropped in our house, my siblings would turn round and chorus, Jane looked at us. Not unnaturally I have dedicated my picture book, The Clumsy Cow to them...

I tell you this to explain how it was that last week, when I was cutting some bread I managed to slice the top of my finger. No, I still don't know how I did it. And to add insult to injury the next day I managed to do it again to another finger.

Anyway finger no 1 bled like a stuck pig, and it took ages to stop the bleeding. Luckily I am not a wuss about these things (that's what comes of having a mother who is a nurse), but in the end I had to enlist Spouse's help to get a plaster on without bleeding to death.

After a few days I thought it had healed up, and forgot about it.

Until Saturday when we went out to sort out tedious domestic tasks. Spouse dumped me by the Insurance Agency we use to pay our buildings insurance while he went off to buy wood (as a man this is of course a vital part of his raison d'etre). Insurance duly having been paid, I toddled off to the bank to pay a cheque in before close of business. En route I inadvertently managed to knock my finger again.

I thought nothing of it (apart from Ouch!) until I noticed a small globule of blood forming on the top of the finger. Damn. I had no tissue on me, and I had given Spouse my last tenner.

I squeezed the finger tight, and held it up to no avail. Within seconds both hands were covered in blood, and I looked like I had just walked off the set of a Tarantino movie.

I dashed into Boots, and grabbed some antiseptic wipes, quick healing plasters and some spray on decoagulant (I didn't know such things existed, but boy was I grateful for them).

The woman in the shop to her eternal credit didn't call the police, but did offer assistance in the form of a tissue. She also offered first aid. Except it was denied by her boss. Apparently Boots staff can't do first aid on their customers. Obvious health and safety issues there...

Anyway, I was by now feeling like a total prat, and just wanted to get my plasters and get the hell out of there.

But oh no. My life can never be simple. I had to use my credit card having no money, and although I was spending the princely sum of £12, thanks to having made two expensive online purchases the previous day my card security was compromised and I found myself (still pouring blood) being ushered to the back of the shop where I held the phone as gingerly as I could and answered some security questions.

It could only happen to me.

By now an interested crowd had gathered around me, and I was feeling more stupid then I probably ever have in my entire life. So it was with great relief that my purchase could be made, and I was finally able to escape.

I used the antiseptic wipes to clean my hands, and managed to get the anti coagulant spray on to stop the bleeding. It was only when I went to put the plaster on I realised in my panic I hadn't bought proper plasters but spray on ones.

And I was too late for the bank.

Still on the upside, my finger has now stopped bleeding and should I commit a heinous crime I expect my finger print has now changed irrevocably and I should get away with it...

PS Caught episode 3 of Torchwood last night and at least there was no gratuitous sex. Captain Jack is turning out rather yummy too. But I think the kids would have been frightened of the ghosts, so it's still a no go for them. They'll just have to make do with watching Dr Who DVDs instead, though No 3 cried buckets at the end of the last episode at the thought of never seeing Rose again. I have a hunch we will see her again - perhaps making her way through the rift in Cardiff and doing a guest spot on Torchwood? Then again, that wouldn't cheer no 3 up, because she definitely won't be watching Torchwood for at least a decade....
Whereas I will. There are advantages to motherhood after all.