A weekend that began at the allotment and ended minus a finger

I awoke Saturday with 10 fingers and ended the morning with 9.

With Spring a’coming, there’s allotment work to do! Since I’ve forgotten what the place looks like I thought a quick visit, take a few photos, create a joblist, was in order. Such a good idea.

Well, I didn’t happen the first week I thought of it, nor the 2nd, the 3rd — it’s taken a few weeks to get there.

On Saturday, after breakfast, I made a quick visit to see Myles. It was under the guise of dropping his car seat back but it was really to play trains and watch Scooby Doo.

I must’ve got to the allotment around 10, just as the heavens opened as I was trying to reverse 20 yards. I can’t go in a straight line reversing at the best of times, let alone when Niagra is happening on the rear windscreen.

Once parked, I found the allotment a little battered and overgrown. Grass was taking over the paving slabs and the fence was flat on the floor.

With photo’s taken (and sent to Shaun) I set about clearing the path of grass. To do so, I needed to lift the paving slabs.

It was whilst using a little fork to lever a slab up enough so I could use my hand to heave, I —

The pain in my left little pinky was indescribable as it quickly turned into a bright red balloon.

At first, I thought it was a really vigorous nettle but there wasn’t a nettle nearby. So I’m left to assume that either a spider bit me, an ant, or something else.

It was so painful.

Needless to say, I lost interest in clearing grass pretty quickly.

With one and a half hands, I dug over a plot and managed to ‘fix’ the fence after it disintegrated by propping it up good.

I then went home to nurse my poorly pinky.

The rest of the weekend I spent discovering exactly how many times I knock my hands during my day-to-day. It’s a lot.

All in all, my poor little pinky.

Today, my little pinky is still a red balloon, maybe a little deflated. It throbs occasionally. It screams and screams and could boil water, and then it itches. Itches. The fucking itching! AAARGH!!!

It is notably less painful. Once it was indescribable, now it’s at wasp sting level, which is better.

My poor little pinky.

If I had shears, SNIP!

Before I set foot back in that allotment, I’m buying chainmail.

Tomos James