As with all road accidents, there was that initial feeling of euphoria — a kind of ecstatic languor. Why is that? Is it to do with losing control? It’s gone almost before you notice it, and then the internal audit begins. I knew I’d hit my head quite hard because I had to struggle to stay conscious. I also saw the drops of blood, falling like raindrops on my shirt and tie. I began to roll something hard and jagged around my tongue — was that a tooth? — but as far as I could tell no bones were broken. Yes, I thought. I’m basically okay. A lucky escape. Now if I can just find my bicycle…
Seventeen hours later I emerged from Chelsea & Westminster with 21 stitches in my head, having spent an hour and a half on an operating table. As head injuries go, it really wasn’t bad, particularly considering I’d been hit by a car.
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