‘Where’s your phone?’ he asked as he looked down at me lying on the concrete floor of The Cow Shed, no trace of emotion or concern in his voice. ‘It’s in the van,’ I replied matter of factly as I looked through the hole in the roof that I had fallen through. Curling my toes and wriggling my fingers told me that nothing major was broken, I was conscious, coherent and very lucky.
The CT scan confirmed nothing broken despite the ‘scream out loud pain’ when I tried to sit up on the resus trolley although the 10 of morphine should have taken effect by now. ‘Have you had a tetanus jab in the last ten years?’ the doctor asks as he glues the gash in my forearm back together. ‘Yes’ I reply confidently, ‘here, a year ago when I burnt most of the skin off my lower leg.’
Later the Wood Cutters Wife observed that I’d not seen the inside of A&E for 48 years and now I was becoming a regular. Is it time to hang up my axe and chose a new line of work? Am I too old or just too daft for firewood processing?
When I was hit by a Romanian left hooker LGV on the M25, causing my company car to spin, I didn’t hang up my laptop then. Perhaps the unlimited sick pay and the four times my enormous salary for death in service meant that the family would be cushioned against financial hardship. Maybe there is a middle ground that fulfils my fierce sense of independence and sustainability as well as all things firewood, whilst reducing the risk to my physical health, wealth and wellbeing.
In the meantime the Wood Cutters Wife is still working on the latest cake after dark on the longest day of the year.