We have had a lovely weekend, weather wise. It has been most enjoyable and it looks set to continue for the whole week.
This morning started with a bang at 7:30. Mort left the boat, we were going to the hospital for a day out. I followed shortly after. Mort has a habit of not opening the sliding hatch, but just lifting it enough to open the doors. Being strapped for time I rush out of the rear, well tried and banged my head on the front of the hatch. Holding my hand on my head and doing a good impression of a rain-dance I kicked the bathroom door. Mort returned to see what all the fuss was about.
"I have banged my head on the hatch", I exclaimed through clenched teeth, for this was the only way I could talk.
"Oh lets have a look", she said.
I removed my hand and it was covered in blood,my hair sporting a fashionable blob of colour, blood red it was. I applied a tissue or two which soon matched my hair flash.
Mort looked and said, it's bleeding".
"No shit Sherlock", my grinding teeth now beginning to hurt more than my head.
Peering into the now blood matted hair she said, "Oh dear that doesn't look too good you wont be able to drive.
I looked for a hat to hold the tissue in place but could not find one of the several hats I know I have. With a small crimson trickle running down my forehead we got in the car and off we went.
You may well wonder why we were going to have a day out at the hospital! Well that is another story.
I left Mort after a disagreement on her boat, not fifty yards (or should that be meters) down the road I hear a cry for help. Mort is on the road crying. She had dropped a wine bottle just after I left and seriously cut her hand as she reached down to clear it up. I looked at the gash, for gash is the only right description, and said, "I'll call an ambulance".
"No don't be daft it looks worse than it is", she said.
"Lets go to the pub and get their first aid kit", she says.
Now I know that if her FA kit is not enough to dress the wound then it would be unlikely that the pub one would fare any better, but to the pub we went. Mort lead the way. She walked up to Mark and said can you sort this out. "Whats wrong with Maffi is he squeamish"
"Yes", she said. I let her have that one.
Mark took one look and said exactly what I had said, "HOSPITAL".
"Do you think so?".
"Yes".
Mark was good enough to arrange for a non drinker to run us to the hospital.
We spent three hours in the minor injuries unit. They didn't want to close it until the specialist had looked at it in the morning. We arrived home at one in the morning with an appointment for 8:30 that same day.
The morning started with a bang.............................