A few months ago, I wrote a poem about how my garden tools were conspiring to kill me. The plan was for it to appear in Ships & Shoes & Sellotape, the follow-up to my first book of pomes , Not really, but thank you (I think.)  I don’t think it ever made it onto El Perro, but I’ll copy it here:

Working on the principle of better late than never, I feel I should apologise, as events since I wrote the poem have proved that I was categorically wrong to have made the accusations I did. My garden tools may well have literally saved my life.

No tiny print at the bottom of a page hidden away among the results of the Bratislavan Yak Milking Championships: I am putting it clearly on record that I was wrong and I apologise unreservedly for any distress or loss I may have caused the outdoor ironmongery community.

On Andalucia Day, 28th February, I was down in the garden doing a bit of raking, when I slipped and fell. Having broken my right ankle very thoroughly back in 2010, I knew immediately that I had done the same thing to my left ankle. Looking down at it confirmed my assessment of the situation.

I will not go into detail of the sight that beheld my eyes, but suffice it to say that having one’s foot hanging off at a funny angle is not pretty.

Nor will I give a blow by blow account of what happened next. I will say that I would never have managed to get back to the house and the telephone, were it not for the very garden tools I had so cruelly vilified just a few months previously. My beloved was in the UK and it was starting to rain. Dusk was beginning to think about descending and February nights here can be very cold.

the azadon is used everywhere here, but I do not remember ever seeing one in the UK.

Somehow, I was able to crawl to the wheelbarrow, which was very nearby, and overturn it, so I could haul myself up to sit on it while I shouted for help. It is virtually impossible to get up from the floor if you cannot use and have to protect one leg. The wheelbarrow was a real godsend, helping me to transition between the floor and an upright position.

Having sat and yelled myself hoarse for around twenty minutes, I realised that  there was nobody within earshot. It could be a very long time before anyone happened upon me and hypothermia was a real possibility. I also had limited time before the shock and the pain would render me incapable of much more than whimpering.

Nearby were the tools I had been using. To cut a long story short, I discovered that an azadon makes a more comfortable crutch than a rake, but both will do in an emergency. Progress across the garden, up the ramp, along the patio and into the house to the phone was precarious and painful, but with the azadon and a rake wedged under my armpits, I was able to drag myself and my foot to safety.

The emergency services operators were understanding and patient with my garbled instructions for how to find me and an ambulance arrived within about fifteen minutes of my call.

Since my little ‘incident,’ I have been on the receiving end of much kindness and first class medical care. I have not been able to sit for long or concentrate on blogging, but now things are slowly returning to normal, I felt I should let readers of El Perro know why I have been so quiet of late.

Impressive, eh?

I would also like to extend my most grateful thanks to the heroes who have made life so much better than it might have been for me and mine:

• the ambulance staff, who splinted me with a copy of Almeria Living, shot me full of drugs and got me to the hospital
• the doctors, nurses and auxiliary staff of Huercal-Overa hospital. Their care and kindness really are second to none
• George and Charlie, who stepped in and took care of the animals and generally coordinated all manner of practical stuff
• Andy and Donna, who looked after me in their home for the week after I came out of hospital
• Lesley who lent us a bed and set it up in the sitting room ready for my return home
• and everyone who has visited, sent good wishes, opened doors for the wheelchair and made sympathetic noises

Once more, I find myself feeling very blessed, loved and cared for. I thank God for them all and for my beloved Geoff, who has looked after me so well both times I have pulled this stunt. He is getting Very Good Indeed at peeling me grapes!

Life is still not back to normal, but things are progressing nicely and I hope to be back to bricklaying, rendering, gardening, cuddling chickens and blogging more regularly soon.

When I do, I shall be able to tell you about our new family member, progress on the garden and the ten tiny ducklings that Louisa Mallard is raising this spring.