Cracked pot.

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Here it is.  A cracked pot, for which I am grateful.

This morning before breakfast I put out the lockdown library, as usual.  I was in my curlers and my garden overcoat, which has seen better days.  A red warning storm is forecast for tonight and we are right in the eye of it.  Therefore I decided to take the pots full of bulbs off the low wall and put them on the ground.

The pot is large.  Having picked it up I was unable to see the ground, or the handle of the library cart.

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Into which I placed my foot as I pivoted, crashing into the ground, which I cleverly caught with my face.  A lady driving past stopped to see if I was alright, it was kind of her because, as I was soon aware, there was blood everywhere.

I went in and found the OH, who was in the shower.  He got dried and dressed and took me to hospital, clutching tissues which I was soaking through very efficiently.

I hadn’t had breakfast or even a cup of tea but four hours later was back home, having had my knee and my face X rayed,  No bones broken, hooray hooray.  They stuck me together with medical glue and Steri strips.  The scar is a few inches long, right down my neck and over my jaw.  I think it was probably the broken edge of the pot that did it.  But the pot took the impact instead of me and I am grateful to it.  It would not have been clever five weeks from the Min to have broken my jaw.  Everything hurts and is swollen but they say there may be no scar, so my chances of being Miss World are unaltered.

I just have to find some teeth that will chew without hurting.  And a cup of tea.


Ceramics are good.  This brave pot saved my jaw.  Newtonian forces and all that.


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