Carole’s gone out walking with my mum, exploring the paths, rocks and waterways of Hardcastle Crags. I, on the other hand, am here in case any work comes in (it won’t) and preparing for a couple of shifts this afternoon.
I’m cleaning the top of the kitchen cupboards. Removing all the gunk and dust that has accumulated up there since the last time I did it. I have a steam cleaner and a cloth. I could have some sort of cleaner and a scraper. There are many ways to do it. I choose the heat to cut through the grease.
Everything is good.
I even take the time to clear out the rubble and assorted detritus in wall above the cupboards where the the electricity meter lives.
Everything is still good.
And then I accidentally knock a mason jar off the top of a cupboard I haven’t yet got to. It falls to the floor and smashes into – and this is no exaggeration – a fucking gazillion pieces.
I am in bare feet. On a small set of steps above the kitchen floor. The hoover is all the way across the kitchen. Between us lies a sea of glass shards, similar to the bit in Die Hard when Bruce Willis is crossing the broken glass, my fate is sealed. My feet are destined to be shredded. Or I have to stay in the kitchen until Carole gets back and rescues me. In… um… about three hours time.
Through a massive twist of fate, though, I have access to a dustpan and brush.
I only need to get off the ladder into a glass free bit of floor, kneel down on a glass free bit of floor and clear a path of the larger shards so I can begin to hoover the sparkly sea of skin-shredding death ahead of me.
Who knew a foot could bleed that much, huh?
I more or less managed it.
I only cut myself twice.
Once on my foot – on the top, interesting, while I was kneeling and sweeping – which I didn’t notice for ages until the top of my foot was awash with lovely life juice.
And then once on my finger, annoyingly, from a miniscule shard of glass caught in my trousers from the kneeling and sweeping.
I mean, in the greater scheme of things, that alone could have been much worse.
I got blooming lucky. My only other option would have been to cross the worktops, pass the sink and somehow over the microwave to get down to the other side of the kitchen.
Or wait for Carole and potentially ring work to say I could come in because I was trapped in the kitchen…
I mean… not the best start to the morning.
Still… at least the kitchen cupboards look nice now.
And I didn’t get any blood on the floor.
Gotta take the wins where you can…