Last night I was on the phone and randomly moving things on the desk, when I caught a glimpse of the sharp ‘eyebrow’ tweezer springing into the air. The next moment I had stabbed my hand on it! It was stuck in just below the ring finger.
Knowing where the tweezer spends its working life I rushed to wash the wound with strong disinfectant. It bled a bit and seemed OK.
I have been phegming up for a few days as well, so I went to bed early.
Now I have been occasionally waking up with cramps in a hand, but they may just be caused by the way I sleep. Last night however I woke up convinced I had carpel tunnel syndrome. One finger was throbbing. I stayed put and slept fitfully.
This morning I woke up to discover the finger above the wound too swollen to bend. I called my new doctor just after 08.00 and was told to ring back for cancellations. By lunch time I asked for an appoint for tomorrow, to be told they don’t have appointments! Sick people have to ring at 08.00! It’s like vultures fighting over a corpse, with the prospect of becoming one if you are not fit enough to get the appointment.
The finger is now bending and I am hopeful it is not in danger, but I do wonder how soon it will be before I can go to a chemist and buy appropriate antibiotics without making a doctor richer for doing nothing.
In the last 18 months I have often thought that I was having my last night in Baildon, but last night probably was. Me and Bev are set for life long mates, but I may not see her house or her pussy Charlie again, and I am sad.
I am half Finnish and do not take kindly to snide comments about the state of my wood, so I have been out and coppiced. I would have preferred to cut the stump lower, and Roger’s kind offer of a chainsaw I might yet, but this probably is my last visit.
I got this Clowes Coaches bus at Rushton Spencer. It were a cracking ride with stunning views.
This is where the Top Gear amphibious race took to the water.
This narrow gauge railway saved me a mile or so of the walk, was grand, and cost £3 one way. I was lucky to get here at the right time.
I got the Leek bus and got off at the golf club. I was using the iPhone map, and it was good enough, but only just.
As you can see, there’s bluebells.
The Wedgwood Institute 
was decorated with extraordinary sculptured tiles of working life in the Potteries by John Lockwood Kipling (Rudyard’s dad). Prince Charles was there a few days before me, and he is backing the reopening of the disused building; so it will get more famous; but Stoke Council have done nothing to help people find it. Joe in the Bulls Head could not remember anyone before me who had come to Burslem to see it.
The Wedgwood Institute is on Queen Street and the Post Code is ST6 3EJ.
Bradwan's Blog 