I have a capacity for self injury, probably more than some and probably less than others. In childhood I managed to run down a path with a forgotten step, to fall into a rose bush and to run into a parked car.
In more recent years I have suffered swollen ankles from fast moving cricket balls, scraped hands from museum exhibits along with a propensity for being tasty food for biting insects.
This week I have been able to add to my list. At the weekend I slipped on my stairs and now have a purple, fist sized bruise on my arse and today I surpassed even myself I think. While doing the washing up.
I know you're thinking, perhaps a cut hand from a broken glass or plate, perhaps even picking up the blade of a sharp knife. No. I was injured by a piece of dry spaghetti. It had attached itself to the outside of a saucepan and so I tried to pick it off. A piece broke off and pushed itself under my thumbnail.
After a moment or so of shouting and cursing I remembered a pair of tweesers, and managed to pull it back out again, along with the requisite drop of blood.
Even I'm not too sure what to say sometimes.