Epic Manliness, With a Minimum of Crying

Thursday 24th June

Hello

So I'm back. I know you've been missing me.

Thing is, I'm finding it hard to get back into the swing of things. I'm not sleeping too well at the minute, probably because it's too bloody hot at night and I don't have any sort of air conditioning, meaning that I fall asleep at odd hours of the day, like while watching tv, eating lunch or driving through Manchester at dawn.

I've got many epic tales of the adventure I took through two and a half thousand miles of Scandinavia, but I won't be sharing them all with you right now since I'm still transcribing the notebook I filled before I forget half of what the notes mean.

Oh yes, and writing isn't the easiest thing in the world since I busted my hand up, and thereby hangs a wee tale. It involves a manly adventure, or misadventure I suppose, involving a small hill, some rocks, a plank and possibly a tent peg.

Alright, I admit it, I fell over. I fell over and all of my bodyweight went through my left hand. When I sat up a little bit I looked at my hand. Look at yours now, I dare you. Middle finger. First knuckle.

Now picture your finger at that point bent backwards by ninety degrees.

Yes, I can feel you wincing from here. My finger looked like an S shape. I didn't so much scream as moo like a stabbed cow. Which was fun for everybody around since they thought it was just another one of BBJ's comedy moments. You know, like I do to entertain people by making them think I've been brutally injured or dead.

Hang on a minute, I have done that before.

Shit.

Anyway, the first aider we had with us at the time, not forgetting this is on the island in the fjord I've told you about before which is miles away from anything and anyone, came over and told me (while I was busy moo-ing) that I had to put it back into place otherwise she would have to and she really didn't want to.

I grew some balls, grabbed the backwards finger in my right hand and wrenched it back into place. I'm quite proud of myself for that. Even though that's when the pain really started to kick in. I'm fairly certain I didn't black out at that point, or even vomit.

I'm all manly like that.

It does mean that my left hand is still a touch buggered a week and a half later. So be kind to me, you know. And since it's impossible for me to manipulate things like my wallet, then I suppose you'd better be the one buying the drinks until it heals.

That's fair, isn't it?