Parcelled up to tackle tour of Wales

When last has your big toe bumped into an immovable object? Those of you lucky enough to have missed this collision, can’t appreciate the pain. And the agony incessant.

Whether or not you abhor crude language, the word appearing in most vocabularies inevitably slips out. For some odd reason, known only to Germans (who evidently invented the word), it best expresses the ferocious pain suffered.

Like the one on my left foot. This time it wasn’t it making contact with the object, but the latter free falling squarely onto it.

See, we have two litter bins, one for normal garbage, the other for recyclable stuff. The one has a proper lid, the other a heavy rock to keep it closed against heavy wind. While filling the rubbish carrier, I accidentally bump against the rock carrier. This causes the rock to roll off the lid, seeking the only thing on its way down – the big digit.

Eina! follows the German equivalent. Then cascading tears.

The rock-fall comes at an inopportune time. We are to fly out five days later to the UK. Too soon, our wound specialist advises. But flight booking overwrites the advice. So, off we go with toe covered with layers of gauze and Elastoplast. A sock hides the monster.

Planes are not built for comfort – except for the rich class – so the toe has no rest throughout.

Thus we arrived in Wales. By now there’s evidence of leaking blood showing through sock. Younger brat, whom we are visiting, takes charge. “Can’t have you walking around like that, Dad, what would my friends think? Not to worry, I have an idea.”

That concerns me.

He removes sock and plasters, taps warm water with salt solution and bathes the bulbous toe. Then replaces the old plasters with fresh ones, and comes with the dreaded “idea”. He gets out one of his wide slippers, forcing the foot into it. But he’s not finished. “Must hide the foot in public.”

In his hands he has a Tesco plastic bag in which he places the foot. Sellotype finishes the “parcel”.

“Next, we’ll use Waitrose and M&S bags,” says brat with an evil grin.

Anyway, I’m now ready to tour Wales. And a good living advert for local retailers.

Cliff Buchler.

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