When I End Up Covered In Blood .....

  When ever I'm trying to do something and I end up pissing with blood? That's, generally, right about the point where I say, " Fuck It! ". Down my tools and go get a beer.

  Well, I've just done that. Let me explain; It all started a few years ago. I finally gained myself enough free time and clear head to settle down to tinkering about, doing shit I felt like.

 What I felt like was making and putting up nest boxes for the wild birds around here. Tits are an obvious choice, of course. But, I also have a soft spot for starlings. 

  So it was that I built dozens of boxes and put them out and about, all over the area I comfortably strolled. And all was good. And the birds did come and, lo, they proliferated. Obviously then, I Did look upon this and see that it was good.

 Then, last year, the pine marten population, that had been teetering on the very finest point of balance, made that one, teentsy bit of effort ..... And avalanched, freefall, into total saturation!

  The result being that barely 10% of the chicks in my nest boxes got out alive. And I personally know of just One of my swallows nests that may have got away. Basically though, it was a route. A complete massacre. 

  Nest boxes were ripped into. Open, 'wild' nests were ripped apart. As were any birds caught on or in them.

  Obviously, I'm not about to sit back and see this happen again this year. So, first off I looked to my starling boxes. They're already building their nests.

  I cut seventeen, carefully measured, pieces of wood. These I then measured up again, for the entrance holes I needed to hole saw cut through them. 

  That done ~ some stained, to match the torn up boxes they'd be fitted to, to cover and strengthen the piney damaged holes ~ I pumped four screws into each of them. Ready to quickly fix to the active nest boxes with minimal disturbance.

  I felt quite pleased with that little burst of activity. Untill, that is, I married one up against the face of one of my nest boxes. Then tried to open said box!

  I should point out that the upper half of the front of my boxes forms the lift out / up door. The top edge moves back, into the box. Bit like an up and over garage door.

  Only, with an inch thick lump of timber strapped to it? The door couldn't budge. Great. Seventeen pieces of carefully measured and cut wood. Seventeen carefully cut fucking holes. Fuck Knows how many fucking screws put in ....!

  All for nothing. I'd forgotten my own golden rule (because I'm fucking useless) of Always trying shit for fit. All that time, effort and materials, down the pan. Imagine my delight!

  Okay. Fuck sake. Spilt milk and all that. Think ..... I'd tried hole sawing a 40mm hole through some thin, steel cladding I have here. It laughed at me!

  Think some more. Thinner metal? Tin? Beer Kit Tins Tin??? I have plenty of those! Got one. Got the tin shears out and went to town. 

  Cut myself a sheet out and held it firmly down onto my block of scrap timber, on the window sill. Pressed the drill firmly down and pressed the trigger.

  Much whirring. Couple of sparks. Bit went through. Teeth scratched at it. Damn!

  I took the drill off and examined the tin. Hmm. Not what I'd hoped for or expected. But, wasn't it getting there?  I put the bit back in the hole. Applied that bit more pressure. Pressed the trigger .....

 " VrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRHH!!!!! " SPIN!!! Fucking piece of tin shot round like a malicious Catherine Wheel! I just registered that really, Seriously scary touch against my thigh (I have a Thing about catching my femoral artery!) when my thumb exploded!

  That's it. Fucking blood everywhere! First Aid training kicks in. Hand straight up in the air. " Please, sir; May I be excused? I've just fucking butchered myself here! "

  For fuck sake. And that's why I'm sitting here. Having a beer. Thumb swathed in heavy duty plaster strip. Kitchen looking like a set from a Shlock Horror film.

  I'm pissed off. Really, Deeply fucking pissed off. Because I nearly took my thumb off.

  Well, now? It's Gloves Off ....!

    

Christ; That Fucking Hurt ....!

 At some indeterminate point in the small hours of this morning, following a lengthy session of alcoholic intake, I had the idea of fetching the horses some supper.

 Nothing too wrong in that. Emptying a barrel of hay into their rack is no problem. I had the good sense to put my steel capped boots on, in case Rosie trod on my foot. What could possibly go wrong?

 It doesn't seem to even get dark just now. Least, as I remember it, it was pretty light out there. That'll be how I noticed the roof .....

 Yeah. Alcohol. Roof. Two words that surely go together like carborundum and penis?

 Then, for good measure, let's throw in " Box ". Yes. Not step ladder. Box. Looking good, isn't it? Drunk man. Roof. Box. Something bad's just got to happen, surely?

 You bettcha! So, there I am. I'm stood on this fucking box, fiddling about with the stall roof above my head. And I'm pissed.

 What's the number one rule, when working off any aid to gaining height? Don't Over Reach!!! What do I do ....?

 And there I am. Falling. I went down like a felled fucking tree. Feet pretty much remained where they were as the body tilted sideways.

 It all seemed to happen so slowly that I had time to think about my plight, even as I descended toward the concrete. I thought; " Oh, FFS! Now, This is gonna fucking hurt! "

 Only, I never really hit the ground. Not at first. No. Because I caught my lower left side on the edge of a round bail feeder.

 Think; One inch, round bar. Think; Entire weight of body slamming, hard, against that. Think bouncing off, screaming. To land on knees, on concrete, screaming. 

 Spoiled my night. Come to think of it? Hasn't done a lot for my day either. I'm in fucking pain.

 Got to look on the bright side though. I landed on my left side. Gone down on my right and there's ye liver. Few inches higher up? Ribs. I could have ended up in pain, in Sligo General!

 Now I want a cup of tea. This is going to be fun. Getting up .....