Two days before my son’s second birthday party, I stabbed myself in the eye with a screwdriver. The incident occurred after I’d been tasked with the not typically treacherous task of putting up a curtain rail. I couldn’t open the packaging and, too lazy to go downstairs, decided to cut the Sellotape with the item nearest to me; a screwdriver. I leaned over to get a closer look as it flicked up through the tape, straight into my left eye.

There was a moment of panic where I feared opening my eye and being unable to see but fortunately my vision was okay. Only a bit blurred. The appearance of my eye, not so okay. There was a lovely scratch on the eyelid, and it couldn’t have been more bloodshot. Louise had been to the shop to buy some milk and, when she returned, was staggered that ten minutes unsupervised had resulted in an attempt to blind myself.

Surprisingly it didn’t hurt as much as you might think, and I valiantly assembled the curtain rail (valiantly, not accurately — it had to be redone) before cycling to work. An extremely red eye is not something that goes unmentioned though and, after some sympathetic comments from colleagues who were likely thinking “you fucking cretin, Andy,” I was advised to take a trip to A&E.

In the waiting room, I was accosted by a squinting joiner who’d got some metal splints in his eye the previous week and was having a check-up. He seemed to be struggling to see and in some pain but he was oddly cheery and told me the metal splints were “nowt.” He’d had much worse than this in his eye before, he said, without elaborating. He was even jolly when a nurse told him that he’d come at the wrong time and needed to go back to his GP to get re-referred.

“No probs, love. I’ll just drive back to work then.”

Drive?

While I sat waiting, I considered my own means of transport. It seemed a poor idea to cycle home with a gammy eye in what was now swirling wind and rain so I did, what any man in his mid-thirties should do when in a tight spot, and called my mum. After hearing “screwdriver in eye” she came to the hospital immediately. We were supposed to be going to the pub that evening but instead, she was treated to sitting in a waiting room with me for four-and-a-half hours. When I was eventually seen, the doctor informed me it was a corneal abrasion but it would heal in a week or so. He said I’d been lucky and I was sent on my way with some eye drops and advice re. safer ways to open packaging.

Giving myself a thug/drug user makeover wasn’t ideal preparation for my toddler’s party but gladly the event was a success. We’d hired out a massive barn room (great description there — the kind of literary prowess you’ll find in my books) at the local farm for a couple of hours. When we arrived, I was concerned that it was freezing cold and extremely dark but, with the help our families (laying out a spread of drinks and cakes and decorating the room) and a farmer (turning on the light) the room was transformed. Still cold, mind. A coats-on party.

As is the case when you host a party, there is fear nobody will show up, but by 3.30 pm a good turnout had assembled and people seemed to be enjoying themselves. My role with these things is to create a playlist on Spotify, something that takes a lot less time and effort than hiring the room, preparing a spread and buying a helium canister to blow up pig-shaped balloons. Depending on who you ask. I was pleased with my farm-theme/nursery rhyme playlist but there was one dud; an extremely long and slow version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. In a gap in conversation, my pal drew attention to it.

“Getting everyone in the party mood, eh, Andy?”

Shortly after mocking me, he leaned against a blackboard and his jacket got covered in chalk. Deserved it, the prick. This is just one example of the kind of debauchery that went on. Parties these days are a bit different from what they used to be.

Just in case one party wasn’t enough, we had a second birthday celebration two days later. The guy is like the Queen. This time we went to Hull for a day out, something I haven’t done since I was 10 when my dad pulled me out of school for the day (different times) to go on an “educational trip” to the Humber Bridge. While the bridge is impressive enough, it certainly doesn’t warrant its own day trip; we’d looked at it, taken a photo and got back in the car within 20 minutes. Day out done by 11 am and it was raining. I could see my dad panicking and wondering how he could prolong the trip. He decided the answer was taking a detour to Grimsby. My dad and I have a mixed success rate with day trips — on another, we went to Lightwater Valley and he got whiplash on the Ultimate.

Anyway, I digress. This day trip to Hull went well. We went to the Deep Aquarium, which I’d highly recommend. Our son charged around like a madman, saw a shark, and jumped in the queue of a feeding session to try and grab a starfish. What more do you need? He seems to have thoroughly enjoyed his birthday festivities so it’s a shame that he’ll have absolutely no recollection of any of it when he’s older. We can show him the photos, I suppose but rather than a rush of happy memories, I imagine his main concern will be what the heck happened to my eye.