It's been another busy weekend. J and I made an offer on a house we both like and have been getting quietly excited about the prospect of having our own place.

Excited is good. Happy is fine. Or so you would think. Last night I was in the kitchen making tea and felt so full of life that I literally skipped through the hall to ask J if she wanted cake. I've done this before; I'm quite a cheerful person after all. Last night though, I timed my skip wrong and headbutted the door frame.

One moment happily mid-air, the next curled up on the ground in agony. J comes in to see what the fuss is about and mentions blood. Blood? I've hit my head plenty of times without bleeding. I'm a little a little cynical until a quite impressive trickle starts pouring on the carpet. This is new. I know everything will be alright when I make a conscious effort to bleed onto my trousers (easier to clean than the floor).

After much tender care from J (during which I insist she take photographs) we are advised to go to the accident and emergency department of the local hospital. This is fascinating. Great source material for songs or stories. This is also my first unplanned trip to hospital. I soak up the atmosphere but, after an hour, begin to flag.

Much later I get seen by a good humoured doctor who literally glues my wound together and tells me to spend the next 24 hours at home, in company and not to drive.

J brings me home and we talk about the days events. Today I'm checking out the photographs on the Mac and experiencing a constant throbbing that reminds me, sometimes happiness brings pain. Tea anyone?


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