Mill Lane and a Mangled Finger.

Whilst walking along Mill Lane tonight, my slightly fevered mind took me back to an incident at school when I was about nine. I trapped a finger nail rather badly and was taken away to be tended to. Only I wasn’t really tended to; I was simply given a seat in the area between the headmaster’s office and the staff room where I was to await transport home. I sat there patiently, looking down just once to see that the chair legs were standing in a pool of blood flowing freely from my injured finger.

The headmaster took on the job of driving me home. I assume some sort of dressing must have been applied because I don’t recall dripping blood on his upholstery, and I should think he would have insisted on such an eventuality being precluded anyway. What I do remember is feeling dizzy, feverish and nauseous, and I vaguely remember being concerned at the possibility of throwing up in the headmaster’s car. I didn’t. We reached my home without incident and I was helped into the house and onto the sofa in the living room.

I remember lying there, still feeling dizzy, feverish and nauseous, and also being irritated by the fact that the head and my mother were chatting on the doorstep. It seemed to me that I and my injury didn’t matter. I didn’t like that, so I called out:

‘Mum!’

‘OK, I’m coming,’ she called back, and appeared a few seconds later. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

I didn’t know what it was. I only knew that I’d felt ignored and didn’t like it. I don’t recall what excuse I came up with (it was probably a good one; I was very good at compiling excuses in those days,) but at least I didn’t feel ignored any more. And I recovered eventually; I even got a new finger nail for good measure.

So why would this little incident from so long ago creep back into my consciousness whilst walking along Mill Lane? I don’t know for certain, but I have a theory.

(Jeffrey's good at theories, too.)

I think it might have been put there to remind me that when I feel I need somebody, I don’t – not really. I just want the attention.

Then again, my theories have been known to be wrong occasionally.