I have an axe wound. Like many of my forefathers before me, my skin has been split by the most primeval of weapons; a sharp, hard lump of something on the end of a stick. One of the earliest of mans machines, harnessing the laws of physics to make us stronger and more powerful.

What primitive has assaulted me? Me, I am afraid I am both aggressor, victim and prize twat.

Yes me, I had a barbeque. Still worse for wear from the night before I decided instead of going to all the way to the garage for charcoal, to smash up the wood piled behind my shed.

Recently I bought an axe; impressed by its primitive simplicity, durability, effectiveness, likeliness to work in our post apocalyptic zombie infested future scenario and above all the fact that it cost two pound eighty. While showing of to my pall Kate, splitting a plank with a flourish turned into; AAGGHHHHHH I cut my thumb. Shortly after this I turned white dripped blood all over the kitchen floor and had to get someone to plaster me up, before it was off to see a nurse. They super glued my wound up; like they used to do in the Vietnam war I was assured. I was given a big white bandage like someone in the beano who whacks themselves on the thumb with a hammer. Its my left hand and doesn't hinder my skills to badly, or my work.

I have learned another level of respect for this daddy of tools. (I think my flat mates have hidden it for my protection) lets just hope there is never a special offer on chain saws.