The old paperclip cure

When we moved to Ringwood, our first house there had a ground-floor extension with a patio door. One day (it was S's birthday and we were going out for a meal at a local restaurant that evening), I came home from work to find that the lad (a mere four-year old whippersnapper at that time) had somehow wedged some small plastic balls inside the track behind the sliding door. This created two problems: (1) they were stopping the door from closing, and (2) the door would have to be removed to get them out. Well, I am by no stretch of the imagination the King of DIY so you can understand how proud I was of myself when I managed to get the door off; you can perhaps also understand how proud I wasn't when I dropped it on my big toe. It hurt. A lot. Didn't you wonder what that noise was? You must remember it: September 14th 1982? A very loud screaming? Yes, that was me! Well, the pain did subside a little and we went to the restaurant. It was not long, however, before the toe had swollen up to the extent that I could not bear to keep my shoe on, so I took it off and spent most of the evening with it hidden under the table (the shoe, that is). This was considerably less embarrassing than having to limp out of the crowded restaurant carrying it. Anyway, over the course of the next few days, I sought medical advice, discovering the bone at the top of the toe had been broken. It was only a minor fracture (so I didn't wallop the little lad too hard) and there was little to do but wait for it to mend itself. After another few days (those of you of a squeamish disposition should probably get ready to look away), the pressure under the toe-nail became unbearable, so I rushed (bah!) to the Health Centre where a nurse performed a minor miracle. She part-straightened a paperclip and, holding the curly end with a clothes peg, heated it until it was red hot. She then inserted (look away now, I did at the time) the red hot end slowly through the toe-nail. If you've ever been with a blacksmith while he was shoeing a horse, you'll be very familiar with the smell. But oh, the blessed relief when all the blood that had built up underneath was released! Marvellous! It was a shame that the nurse got a bollocking from the doctor when he got back from lunch. Presumably, this was not a recognised clinical procedure in the Manual; what the hell, it worked. So, the moral of this story is: don't throw your paperclips away, you might drop a patio door.