Diary – 29 October 2004

I am currently sporting a plaster cast on my left arm which is further encased in a sling. People wonder solicitously whether I have been attacked by enraged human-rights lawyers or serial adulterers. Alas, the truth is rather less heroic. Having had a swimming lesson, I slipped on the changing-room floor; putting out my hand to break my fall, I managed to break my wrist as well. Apparently, I have something called a Colles’ fracture, where one bone is pushed into the other. ‘We’re going to have to pull them apart right away!’ breezily announces the casualty doctor. I inwardly curse all those pieces I have written extolling stoicism and stiff upper lips, and wonder whether it is possible actually to die of fright. Nurses pile into the room to watch the fun, as one of them holds on to my shoulder while the doctor grips my fingers tightly, steadies himself on the floor, and….