You know those niggling little paper cuts you get when you’re wrestling with half a dozen sheets in the printer? Or when you carelessly cut yourself as you’re opening the latest notice of tax coding change from HMRC? Yes? Well those little slices really make you realise just how much you use every square micrometer and every single angle of the surface of that finger (or thumb – let’s not be fingerist about this), don’t they? Yes they do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And that little cut in your finger (or thumb) makes you plan how differently you’re going to approach picking up that pen, and how differently you’re gong to have to get your keys out of your pocket\/bag\/rucksack of doom, yes? Well of course the answer is yes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Since my fortunate\/unfortunate incident, I have had to avoid doing almost every single thing I normally do with my dominant hand. This is actually no big deal; it’s prevented me from doing things around the house and enabled me to read more (‘Stress Free Mooring’, ‘The Storm Tactics Handbook’ and some Jack Reacher rip-off on Kindle, since you ask) and (carefully) play with the dogs more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But the list of jobs is piling up. I just tried to vacuum and that hurt like bloody hell (but I shall have another go at it shortly). I’ve put off cutting the grass because that seems like a stupid move no matter how I consider it. But the big jobs are taunting me with their untouchability (pun not entirely intended).<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What big jobs (I hear you cry)? I want to build a logstore. When we stayed in the railway carriage in Wales (seems like ages ago), I took many photographs of their home-made logstore because it is both brilliant and simple. Once I’ve built that I can move the remaining winter logs into it, and clear the tarpaulin off the patio (where they are currently sheltering).<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I also want to build a new door for the good lady wife her indoors’ garden shed down at the allotment. Someone broke into every single shed down there, obviously expecting that the family valuables of the entire village would be secreted away amongst all the dusty seed trays and the many sets of cobwebby and heavily rusted garden shears. They didn’t take anything of ours, these desperados of the village allotments. But they did break the door down in their attempt to gain entry. Idiots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Anyway. I’m actually looking forward to these two jobs; I haven’t done any hardcore carpentry since I built a stable for a little 14.2hh pony I rescued from a near-terminal case of laminitis, and that must have been in the early 1990s. But if I can’t handle a vacuum cleaner without turning the air a bit blue, the chances of me successfully wielding a circular saw and all manner of other power and manual tools without incident (or at the very least, extreme swearage) are, unfortunately, nil.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ironically, going sailing doesn’t put my right hand under pressure. I can use winches for the ropework, and for everything else I can use my left hand.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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