I got through the ‘womens troubles’ and my Mojo strolled back in with its usual devil-take-the-hindmost swagger, only for me to be struck down in a District 9 way!
You may or may not know about the alien DNA component of the aforementioned film. It came into my mind this morning as I sat with the Shrop Doc, our out of surgery hours medic.
Two weeks ago, the hands of this delicate creative genius were damaged by the menial labours of my Land Girl alter ego. We have a hectare which is down to ornamental garden and veggies in small part, and wild meadow and water in large part. Now ‘wild’ is a misnomer as grassland takes a lot of management if it is not to become rank with nettles and twitch. We cannot afford a tractor, or even a ride on mower until all sprogs are through Uni, so the WFV cuts with a strimmer and I rake and remove. It was in the course of this annual impersonation of a Polish peasant c1900, that I grew two simple blisters, one on the crux of each thumb.
The right hand one has healed.
The left hand one has not.
Here I am tempted to insert a picture, but if you are eating, you may not thank me so I will refrain. What I have now, in place of a left thumb, is a distended red and purple lump about the size of the juiciest grape in the bunch, with swelling extending to my armpit. I have Orf – a virus I have contracted from either my goats, or a neighbours sheep. It is painful and debilitating and I want it to go away!!