The week's not going well. After that rock sprang out at me, hitting my lower shin on Monday, a blob of hot glue - no a minor torrent of hot glue - managed to escape tits hold against a plastic pipe and instead leapt forth and clung with full stickiness onto the top of my finger.
Oh dear, I said. I seem to have boiling hot glue firmly attached to my finger. This is not ideal, I added.
I paraphrase, you understand.
I'm not accident prone - they're just out to get me. There's a difference.