I watched some tourists in the week and they demonstrated again the uniqueness of the coast. This family had decided to visit the coast on a brisk day and were wrapped up in coats and scarves as they clambered over the timber that closes off the gaps in the sea wall during the winter. Amongst the family were a couple of young children, still at the age that would brave hurricanes for a bucket and spade moment, some adults and a young lady. The young lady was in her late teens/ early twenties and she was clearly not happy to be there as was evident by that special slouching sulky walk that all parents recognise. Whilst the family set about entertaining the shrieking youngsters the young lady flattened some sand and sat down at a distance in full on sulk.
When I walked past the window five minutes later I noticed that whilst her right hand played with a phone, doubtless transmitting her sulk across the ether, her left was busy scoping and shaping sand. You see no matter how old you are, or how miserable, when you are sat in sand in you have to play you just can’t help yourself! I am not even sure if she realised what her left hand was doing but when I checked back a few minutes later she was up and playing with the youngsters. I suspect that there is a reason why all playgroups have sand pits and it is to install this deep hidden psychological switch so that we will always revert to ‘happy child’ when sat in sand, and given our climate that has to have helped generations of parents.
I also want to share with you some exciting news, well it is for me. I rarely complete those silly on line quiz things but couldn’t resist the one that would tell me what type of Isle of Wight stereotype I was and set about it with honest vigour. The result was “pure Caulkhead” and I brought about a genuine smile. For those that don’t know a ‘caulkhead’ is the traditional term for native islanders and, whilst I would normally ignore such silliness, in this instance I feel compelled to take this a divine confirmation of my future plans.
I have mentioned before that there are several distinct generations of internet users and this is seen in the way we interact with it, last night brought me another example. Whilst chopping some vegetables I reached that wonderful moment when the rhythm of chopping makes you appear like a skilled chef. This level of perfection is rare but can be encouraged by the consumption of alcohol, as indeed it was on this occasion. As my brain marvelled at my knife handling skills and I congratulated myself on keeping my knives razor sharp my thumb became to inquisitive and met said razor sharp knife on the down stroke. Since small hand fractures are called ‘boxer’s fractures’ I can only presume that thumb and finger tip slicing is known as ‘chef cuts’ and I had a great example.
Now we are all familiar with this type of injury but key is how you handle it. Firstly the brain will always somehow manage to arrest the progress of the knife before the end of the stroke, this is a latent and useless reaction that results in the frustration of a ‘flap’. Task one is to remove this irritating piece of skin, no matter what people tell you it will die, keep it dry, moist, rubbed in antiseptic or dipped in a bloody grow bag it will die so man up and remove the dead wood. Now that the wound is clear we move to the next stage, staunching the gushing blood using liberal application of any dry material that you have not already soaked by accident, don’t forget to rinse the veg during this stage! After changing several dressings I opted for gauze, kitchen roll and, most critically, tightly wound tape.
Overnight I didn’t bleed through the dressing which was a success that I may have to attribute to the numb thumb but hey any win is a win right? Now what does any of this have to do with the internet you ask? stick with me its coming. This morning I stripped the dressing and all looked pretty good, then came the pins and needles as blood returned whilst I watched like an expectant plumber. It was no good I had a leak, a steady flow of claret leaving the wound site would make the day awkward to say the least so, in true plumber style, we needed a plan B. Obviously I turned to the trusty superglue and, after restricting the flow to the thumb I capped the ‘well’ with a decent blob of the miracle Cyanoacrylate, let it dry and restarted the flow…… it held and a small dressing completed the repair.
Having effected the repair I took to the internet to research the idea and confirmed that whilst not ideal the superglue trick has been fairly well utilised with equal success . This is the generation difference, the one below mine instantly turn to the web to tell them what they should do but my generation relies on knowledge using the web only latterly to realise how bad a decision we have potentially made.
