The aftermath...

How dramatic.

Right, on we go. Just got back from the surgeon, but can't say what happened. That would be like ruining the end of a book. Did that once, to a bloke at school called Robert Van der Meulen (honest). Remember that really long family saga, Kane and Abel, by the great Jeffrey Archer? Not in his league; not yet, anyway, but out of small acorns...Well, it goes on for about 1000 pages and you only find out what the answer is on page 998. He was on page 996 and I told him what had happened. Couldn't actually believe I had done it. Maybe I deserved to break my leg?

Talking of which, where had I got to? Waited for blood wagon, resisted a drink. Blood wagon arrived and things get surreal. The rugged looking bloke on the skidoo and brandishing a walkie talkie tells me he has just seen my mother at the bottom of the piste. I tell him he must be mistaken, and that he had in fact seen my wife. He looked appalled, because he had in fact seen my mother. Tom just shrugged his shoulders. So rugged man loads cradle snatched tall bloke into little blood wagon and off the circus goes.

Those things are bloody noisy and, let me tell you, not made for blokes my size. By this stage my upper lip was not as firm as it should have been, and the pain hadn't even started. It was still the mere thought of getting that boot off. I wince at a blister in a new pair of M&S shoes, so what this was going to be like I had no idea. Anyway, I was distracted by assessing Tom's technique down the steep blue we were descending. Bloody good, I must say. Hands forward, knees bent like a tiger ready to leap. Easy now.

Ambulance waiting outside chalet. I knew we had taken this one for a reason. "Easy access for emergency services" should be added to the brochure. The look on the 2 ambulancemen's faces when they pulled back the blanket to reveal me in (almost) all my glory was perfect. "Mon Dieu! Il est massif!" sighed the little one. They earned their pig products and reblochon that day, let me tell you. Lugged into ambulance and driven down to the clinic. Any sign of the doctor? Not a bit of it. It was lunchtime, and by the look of Dr Chenais when he eventually did turn up, that is not a time that he often spends at work. No sandwiches at the desk for him. Anyway, charming gourmand plucked the boot off with the help of the exhausted ambulancemen. Mark Chapple, pah! I am now officially able to deal with pain. Didn't actaully have much choice and in fact was a whimpering wreck.

My first stirring of symoathy for clients...ever. A strange and slightly disturbing feeling, more of which later...