I have done some really stupid things in my life before. There was
that ditch-diving incident when my Dad told me to take my feet off the
pedals of my bike and I heard it as "take your hands off the
handlebars", and the time I was trying to get my parents attention by
standing inbetween them… whilst they were throwing bricks, not
forgetting the day I crossed the road in front of a bike, or the one
when I did the same in front of a car (I became such a regular at the
hospital, I was invited to their Christmas party).
However, these things were linked by a common factor. I was very, very young.
I kind of thought I’d grown out of such nonsense.
Until last Thursday.
Because that was the day I drilled my own leg.
Which hurt… quite a lot.
But weirdly, that wasn’t what I was thinking about. No, my first
thought was “if this starts to bleed uncontrollably, will I be able to
construct a tourniquet quickly enough to still pick up the kids from
school?”. And secondly, “if I have to go to A&E should I lie about
the fact I was drilling holes in wellies?”.
Yes, this was a wellie-drilling injury. Surely, one of the least
impressive or glamorous injuries. (Actually, that’s not really true.
I’m sure I read somewhere that there are a handful of deaths each year
caused by simply “putting on trousers”. Then again, I may well have
made this up...)
I would like to point out that this injury, while undeniably stupid,
is all in a good cause. In fact it was part of one of 35 projects I’m
attempting to prepare for my first ever book.
This tome (which I imagine is already getting Dan Brown worrying over
his share of the book market) is supposed to marry real gardening and
my Blue Peter-esque obsessions with cutting, sticking and recycling
household objects. As a result there will be a certain amount of
planting in non-planters and, consequently, quite a lot of drilling. In
fact, so far this week, I have drilled a ceramic teapot (slow, slow
work), wooden wine boxes (a doddle), rubber wellie boots (soft and
slippery) and, of course, my leg (very painful, but not A&E gruesome
thanks to the stopping power of denim).
Next week I shall be concentrating on planting bulbs and lollipop stick fencing. It will be safer.