Monday, 8 September 2014

The day I needed an accident book

When I woke up this morning I was not expecting to need to insist on completing an accident report. 

The day started innocently enough with a gentle awakening after 2 nights of uninterrupted sleep as a result of Hubby's snoring.  There are benefits to him travelling up to Edinburgh to attend a stag weekend after all though I am not sure that the amount he spent was worth it; it would have paid for a relaxing weekend at the spa. 

Having lovingly spent an afternoon with Hubby last weekend building office furniture for the spare room I had told him that I could easily take the huge cardboard boxes to the refuse tip myself.  After an instruction to cut up the boxes with scissors or a sharp knife he felt I was safe.  The habit of ripping them up with my brute strength makes me feel good at the time but generally results in a dose of Tramadol later in the evening. 

Doing as I was told I found a sharp steak knife to slice the boxes up and put them in the car after giving up trying to undo one of the back seatbelts that someone has helpfully decided to put in a clasp without a release.  I drove to the tip and happily put the boxes and their contents where they needed to go and on the way back to the car suddenly both of my feet were no longer on the ground.

It is only typical of me to find the slab of pavement that has been patched up with a nice dip, albeit small, to the rest of the pavement.  It is also typical of me to find the edge of that patch with my trainer; half on and half off the higher part of the dip again albeit small but enough for my foot to tilt to the right and ensure I lose my balance. 

It is typical of me that when trying to right myself I fell and for my arm to go between what some people may argue to be the small gap between the pavement on the raised area and the lack of a pavement where the council puts the great big metal holder that people put their rubbish in.  It is typical of me to not only scrape my arm from wrist to almost my shoulder on some broken roof tiles some numpty thought to leave next to the gap before my arm moved them and then continued to slide down the edge of pavement.  The fact that my face only caught the side of the fence support was a small but very gratefully received bonus.

A very nice man helped me to stand up before checking my head was okay.  Knowing it takes a lot for my tough nut of a head to be injured I was more concerned about the path of fire spreading down my arm because somehow somewhat severe scapes hurt more than a cut at first.

When I approached a site worker and asked whether I could complete the accident book he responded by asking where I had fallen and on noting I hadn't actually fallen OVER anything said there was no need to complete it.  I informed him I was not after making a claim for compensation just following procedure seen as I had sliced my arm in what was, after all, a refuse tip! He seemed to ignore me and carry on walking.  At which point the nice man offered me his name and address after voicing his displeasure at the dip in the pavement, the tiles strewn about and the seemingly ignorant council workers.

I did manage to collar another worker who took pity on me and offered to clean it up and identified the initial rude site worker was the site supervisor - I would be cynical to say that he had, on second thoughts, seemed more interested in protecting the public purse than my arm and any injury.  On arriving at the site office it transpired that the report had to be taken on a piece of paper as the accident book was nowhere to be found and the site only had 1 antiseptic wipe to it's name. 

Having taken photographs and details of the accident the site supervisor confirmed it would be typed up properly and I would hear from the council and that he hoped my arm wasn't too bad explaining that the resulting investigation by the council may mean that the repair job is repaired properly to avoid anyone else falling.

Deciding this was not an Accident or Emergency Department job and not wishing to go to the NHS Direct centre seen as it is a sunny Sunday, in Blackpool, in the middle of the illuminations meaning half of England will be sat in that Department I went to the one place I knew could patch me up and would certainly have more antiseptic wipes than the refuse tip's first aid kit - my mums.

I picked Hubby up 3 hours later at the train station and he went to get in the car and just stopped dead looking at me as if to say 'What on earth have you done now?' On seeing the photos he is just grateful I didn't break my arm.

6 hours on and it is covered up with a bandage to save the dogs wanting to 'heal' it and it is stinging to high heaven and I am thanking my lucky stars it wasn't a lot worse. 

Photos to follow.....


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