It has been like that since I was eight or nine years old when I rashly climbed on my dad’s workbench and managed to knock his favourite crosscut saw off from it’s precarious position hanging from a couple of pegs on the wall.
Well my dad not only had the sharpest saw in the country as he would spend hours sharpening it – but he also had the quickest temper in the country and everything I did as a youngster appeared to annoy him!
Down came the big crosscut saw off the pegs – teeth first – as I stupidly tried to catch it as it hit the bench – the teeth cut deeply into the palm of my hand! Rather than risk another hiding I just wrapped my bloody hand in a hankie – wiped up the blood and said nothing. If my mother knew – she said nothing.
It was to be a few years later that I found that the sharp crosscut had cut through the tendon of my right-hand index finger – hence the Friday night pointy finger 🙄
Having got that boring story out of the way – tomorrow I will try to put a post together around our trip to Kinloch Rannoch on Saturday and that might explain why the pointy finger got up Helen’s nose – again 😄