Felt a bit vulnerable on ladders for a while after hearing a story at lunch-time, following an invitation in for tinned soup by Mr & Mrs G. Quite why I should be extended this hospitality I'm not sure. "The Lad's" who work for Roy the builder were left out in the firms' van with sandwiches and their copies of The Sun open as the rain lashed down, therefore remaining nameless from the customers point of view as a kind of Untermensch, and certainly not welcomed into the Aga heated farmhouse kitchen.
Anyway, talk came around to stoves and the splitting of firewood, then wear and tear on wrists whilst using a heavy axe. Then dwelling on wrists for a moment, it turned out that Mr G. had already had one wrist all pinned together with stainless steel following an incident involving a ladder...
He readily admitted to an unsafe ladder angle but didn't actually fall very far. However, as often happens, he fell backwards on his hands, and when he got up one set of fingers didn't work anymore.
They took one look at casualty and he was straight into theatre. "Why the rush?" I asked. Well, the two bones in the forearm had been displaced in such a way as to pinch the main blood supply and cut off circulation to his hand. There were fears that they'd have to lop it off.
'Imagine that', I thought to myself from the roof of the kitchen in the continuing rain, 'imagine ending up getting your hand amputated after a short fall from a ladder...'
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