Cuts all round

Last week I was a member of the Labour Party; this week, no longer so. Disgruntled with the two factions of parliament tearing each other apart, I sent in my letter of resignation, and am now a member of the Brexit Party, in the hope that such focus may bring matters to a head and sort out the mess one way or another. For the first time in my life, I am ashamed to be English.

As I age, I find I do more and more "sillies", such as going for a plate and bringing back a cup, or trying to put the milk in the cupboard rather than the fridge. Usually, the sillies are more forgetful than dangerous, but now I have done another silly, this time to myself. Going to the toilet on one of my regular excursions, I generally know my way well enough to not put on the light until I get into the bathroom. This time, I pulled the door shut ready to click on the light, but had not moved my foot far enough over the sill, and the door sliced into my toe like scissor blades. I could do nothing until I had reached the toilet and sat down, for when I need to go I need to go quickly.

Across the floor were little puddles of blood where my foot had trod. I wrapped a handful of toilet tissue round the toe, which rapidly turned red. Finally the flow was staunched, and with toilet paper wrapped round and wedged between my toes I hobbled downstairs to dress it as best I could, with a great swathe of bandage to hold it in place, and a sock over all in case it leaked through to the bed sheets.