I have a poorly little toe today. I succumbed to the need to wear flip-flops due to the current weather conditions, the result of which was that I managed to stub the little pinky on my right foot three times yesterday within the space of only a few hours. Firstly on the corner of my plastic filing tray (which is on the floor btw - I wasn't doing any fancy high kicks), secondly on the corner of the cabinet in the sitting room (whilst trying to avoid the many things stacked beside Jon's chair) and lastly on the small amp in the 'office', when locking the door before going to bed. The curses that uttered from my lips intensified in volume and coarseness with each event, the last being so loud that it was probably lucky there was no-one in the immediate vicinity.
This particular toe, by the way, has been brutalised on many occasions since the first time, back in the '70s I think it was, when I was practising my arabesques on the landing outside the bathroom where we used to live. On that occasion, however, it suffered barbarically in that the foot of my leg hit the frame of the door as I lifted it, this contact culminating in my foot going one way and the little toe taking a different direction, for all intents and purposes, at a right angle. Now that did hurt and the painful upshot was that I couldn't get a shoe on for days because not only was it swollen, it wouldn't go back to its correct position either.
To cap it all, today I went into the aviary to feed the rescued magpie we are looking after; something I have been doing for the past couple of weeks. The aviary is the one that is home to our Reeves pheasant - Vic. Every day I have been going in, chatting cheerfully to Vic, then leaving without any bother. Yesterday I noticed he was a bit 'iffy' but today, just as I was leaving, he rushed me and pecked my leg. Now, that is the first time I have been attacked by a pheasant, and should - no doubt - just notch it up as one of those unique events in life.
However, no pheasant is going to get the better of me. I am not too sure whether it was the fact that he pecked me, or that he made a self-satisfying little noise as he did so, but, boy oh boy, did I scold him! I can't remember exactly what I said - very loudly - but it was along the lines of 'Don't you dare do that again you little sod', and waggled my finger at him as I bent down and invaded his ever-so-smug pheasant personal space. And do you know, I think he actually regretted his faux pas? He looked at me with his little beady eye and backed away looking more than a little abashed.
Tomorrow I shall be prepared for a possible re-match. He may well rue the day he crossed me, the little blighter.
So here I am with a bruised, slightly swollen little toe on my right foot courtesy of various inanimate objects, and a neat, round red dot on my left leg, courtesy of a Reeves pheasant. I can only hope that that is it for this week.