Listening to: All My Colours (Echo and the Bunnymen)
It's: a hazy day today
I'm in the surgery and I'm not filled with confidence when, after some time spent pulling and prodding my injured arm, the doc looks up 'elbow' on Wikipedia.
Resisting the temptation to point at the offending joint and ask "is this what you're looking for?" I wait for his considered opinion.
I've been suffering ever since I delivered piglets Spot and Splodge to Sally's colleague Toni at Marwick on Orkney Mainland. Spot, an easy-going customer, had required the minimum of wrestling to get him from trailer to pen, but Splodge was about as co-operative as the Thatcher government discussing the coal industry.
I climbed in through the trailer's front door, grabbed both legs and heaved him towards the opening. As I inched back out, he took advantage of a moment's lack of concentration and pulled the other way - hard - slamming me down on the floor of the trailer, my left elbow taking most of the impact.
The day after I was sore everywhere, but once everything else had eased up, the arm was still giving me considerable problems, so I reluctantly took Mrs Sort-of Pig Farmer's advice and booked in at the quack.
Using the picture on Wikipedia to explain (see, there was a perfectly logical explanation after all), he tells me he doesn't believe it's broken, chipped or cracked, but I have damaged the tendons and muscle and it's going to be sore for a few days. Strap it up, take the painkillers and grit teeth, basically.