Soft Tissue Damage

Happy New Year. It all started so well.

I was enjoying a bit of Stooges back and to on Twitter with a City fan somewhere in the US (we even acted out in tweets the old 'pick two' routine) and was feeling well set up for a jolly New Year's Eve with a sip at my one remaining Cambrian Gold. The eclipse of the blue moon was looking good next to the flats. I took a picture with the phone, which of course didn't come out so well, so I legged it upstairs to get my camera, telling the kids to look out through the window to watch this rare phenomenon, and then rushed back down again, switching the camera on as I went. To my dismay I noticed that the battery was almost completely exhausted, and as I neared the bottom step, I was wondering whether I would be able to squeeze a shot out before the thing died on its arse.
I was not to be so lucky, and just as I heard the terminal triple beep, the world suddenly flipped up and I saw my foot fold under me in a rapid and alarming fashion. In my haste and excitement, I had missed the second-last step and fell heavily on the foot, also bashing my arm trying to prevent damage to the camera. Although the immediate panic that I might have snapped my foot or shin completely off was not to be realised, I was still in pain, and the kids were yelling - asking if I was OK - from the upstairs window. For a moment I hesitated, thinking that I might try to fire up the camera again and get the shot of the moon I wanted, but quickly realised the futility of such an action (because a) the camera battery has to be charged in a separate unit, and it takes a good couple of hours, b) I wasn't really in the mood any more and c) the camera doesn't take night shots very well) and gingerly climbed the stairs again, testing my ankle as I went. My first impressions were that it was going to be bad in the morning - as these things often are - but that it wasn't really really serious, i.e., involving fractured bones.

As per the plan, much alcohol was consumed in any case, but it did dampen the evening to a certain extent, inclining me to be even more angry with Jools' Hootenanny with the bloody brass section and the terribly unfunny audience clips (Martin Brundle, David Coulthard and crew were particularly irritating) and the indestructible Tom fucking Jones. But I watched The Hill till about 3am and that made me feel better, as I realised that the penal institution depicted in the film was exactly the kind of place most mainstream politicians and almost all of the Press in this country, seem to want to introduce.

By the time I had woken up, the pain had, as I expected, increased considerably and any movement of my foot forwards or sideways was excruciating. Aware of the possible down side, I felt I really had to go and get the thing checked out at hospital. Hence, my New Year's Day (or around 4 hours of it in any case) was spent in the A&E of the Whittington Hospital, which was nowhere near as exciting and sexy as Holby. There was a grouchy Irish staff nurse (I know that there isn't one of those in Casualty any more) or sister, or midwife - whatever they're called these days - who publicly carpeted am old man in a wheelchair before telling him to 'drop the attitude' and pointing out that the hospital and its staff would do nothing to help him. She reminded me of one of those really shit coppers who end up causing more trouble than they stop.

Turns out there was nothing broken. Only soft tissue damage.