The Pointing Finger —

16 May
Even when I lived on the outskirts of Nottingham back in the late sixties and most of the seventies that index finger was known down my ‘local’ as Don’s ‘pointing finger’ as it naturally sticks up or out instead of wrapping round the glass.

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.

6ft long – a two-man crosscut – it’s probably where I got my big shoulders from as I was cutting trees for firewood with my dad using one of these from my early teens – I can hear him yet through gritted teeth growling ‘yrr hinging on the sa’a – jist poo!’

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 😄

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Posted by on May 16, 2022 in out and about


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