Well I said I'd do it. Hope you're not eating as you clicked on to this. As I indicated on Twitter on Wednesday (though no one sent sympathy - I'd have rejected it anyway as I much prefer stoic perseverance on my own) I had a nightmare last Sunday when I tripped up at the top of my stairs and somehow didn't catch myself. I crashed all the way down an entire flight of stairs taking all the pictures of the walls and smashing my face in. It was quite painful. Don't scroll any further if you're afraid of real-life gore.

Amazingly I didn't damage my arms or legs. Given that my right shoulder is already posteriorly dislocated it was a godsend not to have been further damaged; at some point I do require a new shoulder but the longer I can put that off the better those that make 'em and 'fit' 'em will be at it.

So a bashed in nose, bruising and a few grazes of the face and a bit of a bruised side was lucky I suppose. That said ... never again. Please.

It has shown to me though how amazing the body is. In the space of just 7 days I have almost gone back to my usual face (ok, not nice but not so damaged). I also now know why in crime dramas the police always say a beaten up prisoner 'just fell down the stairs' - one little trip and you really do look like you've gone a few rounds in a boxing ring.

I think I need to reconsider keeping my ironing board at the top of the stairs. It really is a bit of a silly place to create less room and a trailing cable: Health & Safety gone. Mad.



Whilst recovering through Monday to Wednesday (luckily I was due to be off on Monday and Tuesday anyway) I did at least get to watch the entire 3rd series of Gomorrah. Wonderful telly; but I recommend you should watch it without throwing your selves down the stairs.

Lastly, I can now see how fast my stubble grows. I really should trim it ever day or two.

Right. Now I'm off for a shave (and I'll be careful on the stairs).