Coffee is out, are you coming in soon?
The Good Lady yodelled from the back door.
I grunted and twisted my neck around to reply.
Yeah, two seconds baby. Just getting this bastart out.
The never-ending rain of a Scottish Spring has softened to a mere misty drizzle and I had decided to get a bit of gardening done.
That bit of gardening being cutting down a giant bushy tree which had been going steadily rogue over the last year to the point it was sprawling all over the place like a horny brown octopus.
Which had meant a lot of sweaty axe-mongering to the point that I had gone so berserk I could practically smell Odin's armpits.
The hacking was now done and all that remained was hauling out the last stubborn bits of its roots.
I grabbed at the remains of its pitiful stump and heaved at it like I had time travelled back to 1992 and was trying to yank my younger self out of Big Wendy's bedroom before it was too late.
There was a grinding crack and it popped free. I squeaked as at the very same moment something also popped in my shoulder.
A lesser man would have screamed and burst into tears at the wrenching pain that bloomed through my shoulder spreading out round my body like a sped-up sex fungus.
Fortunately, I was not a lesser man and simply made a small mewling sound and fell to the ground in agony.
Some moments later. I stopped thrashing and groaning and lay still.
I was ok. I was sure I was ok. The pain has stopped. It was all good.
I moved my arm and squealed in torment as my shoulder flared up with more pain than any handsome man should ever have to face.
Fuck!?
My right arm seemed to be fucked. Well, maybe not my arm but my shoulder was and it was unfortunately the fleshy bit that attached my arm to the rest of me.
Wincing I pulled myself up from the ground and tried not to move my afflicted limb.
You'll be ok big dawg, it's just a flesh wound. Everything is going to be alright.
I felt sick with the pain. Genuinely sick and not Instagram influencer sick.
Holy shit, are you ok? You're awfully pale?
The Good Lady squawked with concern as I staggered into the Kitchen.
S'cool sweetcheeks. All good. Just tugged a little something in my shoulder. Don't worry, it's a man thing. I will be fine in ten minutes.
I limped into the lounge and gently sank into the armchair. Bollocks, it fucking hurt to sit as my shoulder throbbed when my arm hung unsupported. Gingerly, I twisted a cushion under my arm and relaxed a bit. The pain receded for a moment leaving only the throbby ache that made you feel slightly sick as if you had found your Grandad's Watersports magazines at the back of a cupboard and they had nothing to do with jet-skis and boats.
The Good Lady bought me my coffee, frowning with worry as she saw me flinching with managony as I attempted to lift it with my right hand.
Are you sure it is ok? You don't need to go to the hospital? You don't look right.
She did look worried. I had to admit, I was a tad myself.
But pain is for the weak and I didn't get to where I was by snivelling about a little twinge every five minutes.
A-Okay, babycakes. Just a scratch. Be better in the morning.
I smiled and tried not to burst out crying with the pain.
If you say so, shall I get you some painkillers?
Funk aye. The big nasty ones with all the codeine, please.
She returned moments later and handed me a couple with some water which I necked.
Eventually, I could feel them kicking in and didn't feel quite so sick with pain.
It's gonna be alright Dawg-Man. You are going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright.
I thought to pass a little time and picked up my guitar with my left hand but as I attempted to lift my right arm away from my body a squarbly jet of pain stabbed out from my shoulder into my brain.
Carefully, I put the guitar back down.
It's ok. Everything is going to be alright. Just have to take it easy for a while. I took a deep breath and tried to relax. It was all good. Everything was all good.
I dozed a little before being awoken by a Wookie's grumble in my nethers. Darn, I need a number two. Stat.
I headed to the toilet and evacuated my bowels with an expertise born of years of number two'ing. However, as I reached for the toilet paper my arm spasmed with pain. Oh shit?! My wiping arm? How the fuck was I going to get around this?
It's ok. You can wipe with your left Snoop Dawg. Everything is alright, you are going to be fine.
Much later after an excessive amount of shoddy wiping, I made it back downstairs.
I felt a bit weak and shaky. It's going to be alright, I told myself. Everything is going to be alright.
The Good Lady came into the room with a glass of wine in each hand and put one down on the table beside me.
Here, thought this might cheer you up.
She smiled and I did too. Wine, of course. That would sort everything. Everything was definitely going to be alright.
I stretched out a hand to pick up my glass and yelped like a cocker spaniel having its nipples waxed.
Hot flaming bat shits, my injured arm is my wine-drinking arm?! What was I going to do?!
Everything is NOT going to be alright.
