You know when you hit your finger with a hammer and you know it hurts but you can’t feel it because your fingers are numb with cold due to the temperature being around 0°, and then you go in, your fingers warm up, then you start to feel the throbbing pain, and it gets worse the warmer you get? Well, that happened to me today. And it bloody hurt!
Later on, a sizeable blood blister appeared. When I was a child I knew it as a black man’s pinch. I immediately got to thinking, “Well, I can’t write that as it is likely to offend.” Then, curiosity set me to research it’s etymology; it may not be racist in origin. It’ll be interesting to know how a blood blister becomes a black man’s pinch. I found a story about the ghost of a Welsh miner.
https://devansword.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-black-mans-pinch.html (It’s grammatically awful, but brilliant.)
Unfortunately, the blogger doesn’t appear to have published much; about half a dozen posts. Shame.
It’s been a bit of all sorts of late; I don’t know how to describe it.
I’ve had a gift of cakes and biscuits. The problem there is that those things are an addiction to me. I can’t open a packet and have a biscuit, for example, I have to eat the whole pack. I then become ill on all the gluten, for days. You would think that knowing of all that pain and suffering that I will have to endure would be enough of a deterrent, wouldn’t you? But no. I have to tuck in.
I was told that I was “a bit rude about the perfume gift”. I apologised of course. It is never my intention to offend. Accepting gifts/charity has it’s hazards. The other day, a young woman gave me a duvet. It was new and unopened. I didn’t need a duvet, but accepted it as the young woman had gone out of her way to purchase said duvet. The next day, a man stopped by to offer me a duvet. I thanked him for asking and I politely explained that I had all the blankets I need.
I was made a proposition the other day. Not the sort that happens often, to be fair. I was just busying myself as usual, when a man stopped and said, “Is this your caravan?”
I looked at him and said, “Yeah. It’s my home.”
“Can I borrow it?” He said.
I looked at him and said, “ What?”
He then went on to tell me that he was meeting a girlfriend and that the woods were too muddy. I told him that he could sit outside and chat. He could even borrow chairs, but my space is my space and there is not enough room to accommodate two more at present. It simply isn’t convenient. He then pointed out that he had noticed that I have a bed. The penny dropped rather loudly!
He said, “You can have a go too, as long as I go first.”!
I declined his offer.
I keep forgetting to publish the third part of the circus story. The next story is already written and is in six parts. I can’t really make my mind up about publishing. Do I publish weekly parts regularly? Or perhaps fortnightly? Monthly and daily are out of the question. But then, do I do what I always do, publishing randomly, as and when I get round to it? What do you reckon?
Random is good because it never really is. It's when its cooked!