Surfacing

The astute reader of yesterday's blip, which in fact I wrote this morning on my phone, might have picked up that the day didn't end well. Now, 24 hours later, I'm feeling up to explaining. That walk I took in the driving rain and hail with my pal, more listening than talking as she had much to share, took us up one of these rough tracks that the forestry people have reinforced before taking out the harvested timber. They use local stone for this, roughly broken up and rolled into the existing surface, where it appears almost like cement because of the grey colour of the rocks. It was this surface that I found excoriating my nose, mainly, when my foot turned on a loose, wet stone and pitched me irresistibly forward - knee first, then arm, then nose. It felt unbelievably hard and gritty.

My pal Di is made of stern stuff. She exclaimed slightly at the bloody mess that confronted her, but got me to my feet to examine the damage. This was hampered by the fact that between us we had one paper surgical mask (used) and one paper tissue (clean, but small). There was blood everywhere, dripping onto my coat with the help of the incessant rain, from my nose and my mouth, where my front teeth had inflicted damage on both lips. 

We had to walk about a mile - mercifully downhill - to reach the cars; we abandoned all pretence at distancing and she drove me home, as well as taking Himself back to collect our car. After a call to NHS 24 I was given an appointment at our local A&E, where a doctor peered into my eyes and ears and told me that my nose wasn't broken but I needed to see a dentist ...

And that, best beloved, is where that photo came from. The dentist X-rayed the slightly wobbly and odd-feeling tooth and pronounced it not dead yet, though I shall be eating very small mouthfuls for a week or so. I have a remarkable trout pout, the kind you can pay thousands for, and a swollen nose that my specs leave dimples in. There is a dramatic red graze down my nose, and I've just found a fetching purple bruise under my lower lip, like lipstick that has gone awry.  

The photo is from outside the dental surgery, taken in a moment of euphoria. It shows that they are perhaps having worse weather down the Firth of Clyde than we are, though the hills to the north once again have snow on them. I thought this was perhaps sufficiently minimalist to satisfy Snapper, should she head this way ...

And no. No selfies.