Blood, wine, mice and tears

Just to set the scene, it's been a bit like the ten plagues of Egypt in my flat recently, though without the dead children (although if I get my hands on our noisy neighbours…). We’ve got falling down fences, aforementioned noisy neighbours, slugs, damp and various other maladies. Not to mention a flatmate who appears to be in the midst of some kind of nervous breakdown and is intent on taking me down with her.

Anyway, last night I was sitting watching some telly, as per usual, and decided on a glass of wine. Picking up the wine box I realised that I was down to the dregs. Now there is an art to extracting wine from the corners of a wine box (don't mock—I've scrounged up a whole glass from those corners before). It involves mainly brute force along with a sharp kitchen knife. So, last night I go to carry out this task as I have many times before (though not that many - I'm no alkie). I’m sure you can guess what’s coming. I get through the cardboard no problem, then just as I thrust the knife through the silver bag, I also thrust it into my finger, lopping quite a large chunk off the side. Blood is spurting everywhere (and for once in my life I’m not exaggerating—it was like something out of Carrie—this is NOT like that time I thought I had meningitis which turned out to be an allergic reaction to some deodorant). I manage not to panic, bite my lip like the brave soldier I am and go off to get some loo roll. Then as I’m sitting on the sofa trying to staunch the flow with reams of toilet paper, a bloody great mouse appears out of nowhere and belts across the kitchen floor. Did it wait until I was incapacitated? You decide.
Ah well, at least it gives me blog material. And hopefully no permanent scarring.