Glass man

Way back when I first arrived in the Netherlands, my friend and I managed to scare one of Mills's colleagues into a state of shock by talking non-stop about marriage, committment and children. Since then, we've gotten to know each other and Jimbo has gotten over his fear of me.

I remedied this situation last night by breaking his finger. How'd you like dem apples, bitch?

See, we were playing football. I took a close-range shot on goal. Jimbo tried to stop the ball but mistimed it. He bent his fingers back as the ball snuck under his hand. I celebrated in true footballer tradition (pretended to be a plane and pulled my shirt over my head), while everyone started to congregate around Jimbo. I thought they were commiscerating the fact that he'd let a girl score.

Incorrect. Without consultation, Big J's ring finger had chosen a different direction in life. Pale and yellow to look at, his first knuckle was completely disinterested in staying in line with the rest of his hand. Instead, the metacarpal jutted out a good few millimetres above where it should have been. I tell you this in detail because when I saw it, I reeled back. Maybe it was more shocking because he was so blase about it.

"Bloody 'ell. I think my finger's broken."

Um, yes. I think so. Sorry about that.

Incidently, his finger wasn't broken. It was 'only' dislocated. It makes for a good picture though, doesn't it?