I wouldn’t normally show you a photo of my leg. Why the hell would I? There’s only a very small and select group of people familiar with either of my legs at this level of detail, and I’m no fetishist posting pics of my lower limb on the Interweb.
Who do you think I am — Heather Mills?
But tonight was different for several reasons. We had that gigantic fire which I hear is still going on, and we had the first (not to mention inaugural) meeting of the Limerick Bloggorati, in Jerry Flannery’s civil pub.
I was in a hurry. I had to take pics of that fire but I was conscious of the
drunken disgrace blogger meet-up, and so I took as many photos as seemed decent. I hurried home nice and fast to drop off the serious camera, while keeping the small one secreted in the folds of my waistcoat just in case.
I rushed back out the door, for fear of being late, and that was when Mr Darwin sent me a text.
Now, my friends, let me offer you a small piece of advice. If there’s any sort of a step up to your front door, and if it’s dark, and if you have placed any sort of wooden planter there on the ground, and if Mr Darwin texts you, please don’t try to read it and reply in the dark, as you walk along. As, in fact, I did.
Because if you do, your leg will end up looking like this: