It's been preying on my mind, but thanks to a surreal experience, I now understand the whole series of injuries I've picked up.
First there was the sprained ankle and stubbed toe from kicking that Piper. Then I gave myself a touch of Tennis Elbow, lighting so many tea lights for this evening's "Rather Lovely Service". And then I strained my side trying to get out of the Archdruidical rocking-throne to switch the telly off.
And then there was a knock on the door. And Morton Harket was there, demanding back the shin-armour that he'd lent to the Piper this morning. And it all became clear.
I now know why I've suffered a whole string of random and yet debilitating injuries.
I'm owing a-ha greaves.
aaaaaaargggghhhhhh
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