Yesterday, I inadvertently bequeathed myself an unwanted festive present; this haphazard benefaction the gift of pain and blood loss. A consequence of accidentally trapping a finger in my front door while putting the bins out. This Xmas trinket not requiring traditional yuletide wrapping paper, moreover the blood stemming qualities bestowed from quarter of a kitchen roll.

Consequently, due to soreness and concerns about abating the flow of ‘claret’ when prescribed heart meds, my slumber was even more broken than the unsettled kip GJ Strachan ordinarily achieves.

This morning, after removing the dried blood covered kitchen roll and cleaning the wound, it became pretty clear why I’d lost so much haemoglobin post-injury. The top of my right hand digit adjacent to the little finger was partly detached from the main hand.

This area now appearing like the gaping mouth of puppet Zippy from 1970’s/80’s kids TV show Rainbow. Old Zipper the simple rugby ball headed cloth figurine, famed for his fondness of loudly sharing his forthright opinions with peers….. A sort of Alf Garnett without the xenophobia, and the potty mouth.

Pictured below, the aforementioned gobs***e Zippy…… Or is it Alf Garnett?

Anyhow, I’ve just returned from the pharmacy armed with sterile strips to hold the flap of skin against the remainder of the wound site. Hopefully this will negate against the injury continually being snagged, allowing a speedier recovery to the traumatised, and extremely tender, area.

Mercifully, within my first aid kit, which’s resided unused in my car boot for a year or two, there’s a pair of latex gloves, allowing me to shower without making the wound damp. Or at least that’s the plan; otherwise it’s gonna cost me a pretty penny in sterile strip procurement.

As alluded to above, at this juncture the impacted area is decidedly sore; however, looking at things pragmatically I’d suggest I could’ve sustained far worse injuries. For instance, as I attempted to shut my front door yesterday evening I could’ve been trampled by a herd of wildebeest, mauled by a lion, or been the victim of shark attack.

Sure, I concede those scenarios are highly unlikely, especially the shark attack, but you should never count out anything on this life journey. After all, that plateau of complacency resulted in the fall of Jericho, the Texan Alamo loss, along with misguided Corrie character Deirdrie Barlow being deprived of her liberty.

I’d like to think yours truly’s idiosyncratic examples of how my injuries are insignificant, compared to potentially worse life episodes which could befall me, shows a degree of defiance against how I’ll deal with this existential episode.

Dare I even say, playing down my pain perhaps bears a touch of the noble. Sure, that maybe over-egging the Strachan behavioural pudding. However, at least I can hold my head up high in the knowledge I’ve not sought sympathy or attention for my plight. An avenue I could’ve easily wandered down by announcing this incident in a 500+ word blog….. Oh, hold on a minute!

They say that ‘Love is a many splendored thing’. However, I beg to differ, instead advocating the philosophy of “Splendour is a many loved thing’…… In candour, I’ve no idea what that means, but I needed to write an extra paragraph to achieve the minimum 500 words yours truly writes on a daily basis. That number the arbitrary lowest word count per narrative GJ Strachan set when embarking on this literary odyssey.

Actual, as I’m fond of the splendid things in life, the mantra “Splendour is a many loved thing’ actually is an adage I actually do subscribe to….. It appears I’ve inadvertently meandered into the field of becoming a philosopher.