Inkpen, Berkshire: Drifting in and out of sleep on the woodland floor, I’m in searing pain, but far from alone
It was nobody’s fault, but here I am, lying on the damp floor of a wood, half a mile from the road. Drifting down with the falling leaves are the voices of two women, too easily accepting of blame. I reassure them and try to sit up, but the high singing in my ears turns to static, the edges of the wood begin to pixelate, and I lie down again before I faint.
Moments earlier, deep into Long Copse, Mum’s one-year-old labrador and my two-year-old collie crossbreed had met a young whippet. A case of the zoomies ensued, and as I turned to warn Mum, there was a sledgehammer blow to my lower leg as one, two or maybe all three dogs cannoned into me. Though I didn’t realise for two more days, my leg was broken before I hit the ground.
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