Bad day
Many moons ago I was happily working in the stockroom of a shop when I reached a bit too far whilst stacking some boxes on high shelves. During my frantic descent I somehow managed to catch my wedding ring on something hooky, which left me hanging mid-air for a second before I was free-falling again and the bloke who should have been holding the ladder broke my fall. My ring had cut right into the soft tissue at the bottom of my finger, much blood ensued. Being a stoic type at the time I wrapped it up with a cleaning cloth and shortly afterwards headed home. In retrospect a trip to A&E might have been a bit more prudent.

On the way back my ancient Audi's exhaust chucked the latest 'temporary' (8 months) patch on its exhast and I spluttered the last few miles back to Riffjedibaby Villas. One of the very few redeeming features of this former residence was a garage in the back garden with an inspection pit.

After cleaning the finger up a bit and thinking "I should have taken that ring off whilst I had the chance" because the bottom of my finger was starting to swell, I bandaged it up again and put the car in the garage to start working on my latest gun gum/chicken wire/coke can repair.

Half an hour later my latest creation seemed to be holding up but the finger was now swollen and angry and starting to indicate through the medium of acute pain that I should do something fairly quickly to relieve the swelling.

Again, the prudent move would have been A&E but (due to another totally unrelated finger getting trapped in something daft experience) I knew that the fire brigade would inevitably be called to cut the ring off with a grotesque can-opener type device and I couldn't be doing with all the fuss.

So I fetched a hacksaw and secured as much of the ring in a bench vice as I could and started to carefully saw it off.

The ring I mean, not the finger.

Incredibly this did just the trick, not too much self inflicted additional damage and an immense feeling of relief when circulation was restored.

In a giddy whisky and analgesic fuelled mood I stepped back from the bench to admire my home surgery success, straight into the open inspection pit.

As I lay in the oily gunk of the pit marvelling at how much skin I'd scraped off on my second descent of the day, I realised what the inexplicable decision was that brought me here.




Marriage.



Length? Almost 20 years. Depth, about 5 foot.
(riffjedibaby almost 1,000 chickens, Wed 29 Sep 2010, 22:53, 1 reply)

Unexpected inspection pit!
Well, it made me laugh!
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Wed 29 Sep 2010, 22:56, closed)