A CRACKED LID, BRUISED RIBS & A PINK TOENAIL

On Friday morning I was cycling into work when I suffered a classic smidsy (“Sorry mate, I didn’t see you”) accident. Our church building is at the top of a hill, and before tackling the up, there is a fast down. I ride defensively down the hill, occupying the centre of the road to stop cars trying to push past me, and on Friday there wasn’t a car particularly close to me anyway, so I would have been very visible. But at the junction at the bottom of the hill a motorist pulled out without seeing me and collision was unavoidable. I could see what was going to happen and in the split second available tried to get into a position which would cause me the least amount of damage. So, rather than ploughing head-on into the car, I managed to twist the bike round somewhat and then kind of leapt over the bonnet before smacking down onto the tarmac.

My first thought was that this was not good, and that a number of things I had planned for the day would now no longer be happening. Also, that my participation in the Three Peaks Challenge (climbing Ben Nevis, Scafell Pike and Snowdon in 24 hours) which I was due to begin this evening was going to be unlikely.

My next thought was a desire to get up and thump the driver, but that was impossible as I was not able to move. (Probably just as well!)

An off-duty policeman was on the scene almost immediately and took charge of things. An ambulance was there within minutes and an off-duty intensive care nurse also appeared and got involved helping to hold my head as the ambulance guys put me in a neck brace and strapped me to a board. All this took a while and I was lying on the road for about 50 minutes – acutely embarrassed by the scale of traffic jam I was causing.

Once in the ambulance my shirt was cut off, and shoes and socks removed, and it was at this point that my embarrassment increased. A couple of weeks back my daughters were painting their toenails and ambushed me, painting one of mine. It was very well applied, and hadn’t chipped or come off at all, and throughout the rest of the day I had to explain to nurses, doctors and assorted other passers-by exactly why it was I have one pink toenail.

If I had known I was going to get hit by a car I would have got the nail polish remover out.

Once I got to hospital the treatment was great. X-rays revealed nothing was broken, but there were concerns I had internal bleeding as my blood pressure kept plunging and I blacked out a couple of times. In the end this was put down simply to the fact that I had been on my back a long time, was dosed full of morphine, and that sitting up too quickly threw my blood pressure out of whack. I was admitted to a ward and thought I would have to spend the night in hospital, but by 10.30pm they said I could go, and I limped my way out.

I am still in a lot of pain – getting in and out of bed is agony – and am feeling pretty woozy, but that probably has a lot to do with the amount of meds I am taking. My bike needs some attention, but I have the drivers details so should be able to sort that out on his insurance. (Rather than wanting to hit him, I now feel rather sorry for him – it must have ruined his day too.) And I have the frustration of not doing the Three Peaks, which is doubly frustrating having had to pull out of the Brighton Marathon two months ago because of illness and injury.

Oh, and I still have a pink toenail, which I really must do something about.

But perhaps the main lesson for any cyclist reading this is, “Always wear a helmet.” I don’t like wearing one, but it did exactly what it is meant to do, taking the impact and cracking practically in half. I need a new helmet now, but at least it was the lid and not my head that got cracked. Without it things would have been a lot worse.

LEAVING NANCY

A global financial crisis, torrential rain and floods in the UK, the European Football Championships just started and the Olympics soon to begin – it’s all big news, but not quite so big as David Cameron leaving his daughter in a pub.

Opinion on this one seems pretty evenly split between those who say, “Poor bloke – been there, done that myself,” and others who say, “I always knew he was incompetent.” I guess this split reflects personal experience, as well as pre-existent attitudes towards the Prime Minister.

Like the PM I have a daughter called Nancy. (Although mine is older than his, so it definitely wasn’t a case of copying his & Sam’s example in name choosing.) We’ve never left her in a pub, but we did once lock her in the car when we came to church – it was for no more than a couple of minutes, but she’s never quite forgiven us for it! Mrs Hosier claims to have left another of our offspring in the car while she went shopping, thinking that the child was actually attached to her in a baby sling. When she realized the sling was empty her first thought was that the child had somehow slipped out into a freezer compartment at the supermarket, which – thankfully! – was not the case. My own mother tells a story of how she once left me parked in my pram outside the shops (as people still did in the 70’s – it wasn’t all beige and dodgy haircuts back then you know; you could leave a baby lying about and not get reported to social services or be in terror of a paedophile. Happy days!) and then headed for home forgetting my existence, before realizing she was missing something.

So there is nothing particularly unusual in losing a child without realizing you’ve done so – although I do wonder why the Cameron’s security detail didn’t run a more comprehensive headcount. It wouldn’t happen on The West Wing. Of course, the most famous example of this is Mary & Joseph losing Jesus in circumstances not unlike the Cameron’s – “I thought he was with you!” No, I thought he was with you! That situation turned out ok too.

All of which simply goes to show that we should perhaps be more relaxed about our kids than sometimes we are. Chances are they’ll be ok. And in the PM’s further defence, I would like to point out what an exceptionally cool name he chose for his daughter – you just know that anyone called Nancy is going to be able to look after themselves, wherever they get left.