You may have noticed I was away for a week. I was on holiday with the family in Brittany and what serene fun it was too.

I walked the beaches, padded round the campsite with a baguette, sipped wine, played by the pool, had coffee in delectable villages, hired a bike, lit barbeques, read Winnie-the-Pooh with the children, and prepared delicious salads with fresh cherries for Fionnuala. The only thing I didn’t do was write. I took a break.

Which is exactly what happened my finger as soon as we got home.

In the exhilaration of getting out of the car, I slammed the door on my left-hand index and screamed like a banshee at a Black Sabbath concert.

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As I looked down, I knew I was in diffs. But then the pain eased and Dr Google said ice, elevation and over-the-counter pain killers, so despite Fionnuala’s protestations, I decided not to go to A&E. I was too tired.

The next........

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