For Crying out Loud

This morning at 5h30 Peg-leg phoned me from Frankfurt to remind me that this morning was garbage collection and ask me to put out the bin.  By the time he had remembered last night it was far too late and I was already in my pjs and there was no way I was heading out the door, around the houses to the back of ours to get a bin and push it to the front of the house, so I only had myself to blame for having to get up so early.

So, I push this bin with about 4 weeks worth of garbage out and as I'm pushing, I think "this'd be a good morning to go for a run"  Well.  I should maybe just not have thought that.  It jinxed me.

I got to the front of the house, positioned the bin and let it drop ... with my right big toe neatly in place for the back of the bin to grab hold of that toenail and flip it up in the air... while my toe stayed stationary. 

With tears streaming out my eyes and blood streaming out my toe I wobbled my way back to the house before whimpering until I got to the plasters, wrapped my toe in one, hobbled up the stairs to the bedroom, grabbed a pillow and screamed like a pig being slaughtered (the neighbours at this point probably wondered whether I was being killed, but thankfully they did the British thing and didn't butt in) . 

Then I phoned Peg-Leg for a bit of sympathy before texting my whole family to let them know that I was in the process of dying.

So, now the question is, with a foot that I can't step on because a certain toe punishes me each and every time that I dare to, how am I going to do that 5 miles this afternoon?

Pictures to follow