This isn’t a confessional, by the way. I haven’t lived a life of secret shame, cursed by the ugly finger. It is only recently ugly. Yesterday morning, while engaging in the frying of a new year breakfast, a splash of burning fat landed on my left forefinger. It was sitting there a few seconds before I got it off, and the burn therefore went quite deep. By evening, the finger had swollen, and I assumed that it had blistered without said blister breaking the surface of the skin.
This morning, there was a streak of red and pain up my arm in a line to my elbow. A quick call to the NHS, and it seems I have a nasty, spreading infection under the surface, originating from my now pus-filled forefinger. Antibiotics and painkillers beckon. Happy New Year indeed.