Sometimes I over think things.

There was a slight wind and a chill as the Sun was descending dangerously close to the horizon.  Looking at the photographs it seems the most romantic thing I've done but at the time it wasn't.  The coals were glowing but the wind was snatching heat away from our attempts at producing something edible before sundown.  Wanting this to be over as soon as possible I grabbed the foil tray and slid it around to a more sheltered spot and lent out to snatch up some card to make a windbreak out of.  As I felt the edge of the corrugated board and lifted it my hand suddenly loosened and the card dropped lazily from my grasp.  I remember thinking "That was weird" and got exasperated at my own body conspiring to make the situation worse.

I tried again and as I lent across the sand I again couldn't get my hand to respond as I had intended.  This time was different though; I felt a sharp, stabbing prickle run across my forearm.  I recoiled and glanced at where my arm had been.  Nothing.  On a beach I assumed that it must have been some sharp grasses or spiny shell but there was none.  The third time I actually yelled out and then, on feeling a stronger stabbing in my arm I brushed the sand aside to find the blasted object and cast it into oblivion (or at least down the beach a few metres).  The sand felt warm.  That's weird.  Some kind of black magic was afoot.  I needed to figure this out.

I looked at the sand, it didn't look any different yet it was warm.  Actually it was hot.  Actually I needed to stop holding it my hands right now.  I threw it down and then looked from the patch of sand to where the BBQ now sat.  I lowered my head to the ground and looked under the BBQ where the legs had sunk into the sand and the very centre of the foil tray was touching the ground.  I looked at the patch onto which I'd placed my arm and then at my arm.  Yup it was definitely that then.  From what I can recall I casually asked if my companion could fetch me a bucket of seawater and then swore rather than explain why.

Six centimetres wide and four centimetres across I wound up wearing sweaters, jumpers or hoodies all of the time and didn't wear a t-shirt in three years.  When I was asked "Chris, aren't you hot?" I explained and was sweetly told that there was nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about.

It was nice that someone would think that but I'm quite realistic.  In comparison with serious accidents mine was a paltry insignificance.  I was more embarrassed that in the story of how I got my scar I have to confess that it took me three attempts and about four minutes to listen to my body telling me "Don't touch that - it's VERY HOT".

Fail.