You forget that blood has this special, distinct metallic smell to it. You get so used to seeing it in movies and on bad hospital dramas that you forget that its essential characteristics are not just red wetness but also a faint warm metallic scent, which clings to your nostrils, like onions.

After all that grumbling yesterday, I was about to go to bed when P came in and slipped over and bashed his head and all of a sudden there was a crisis to deal with: blood everywhere and an ambulance and Kingston A&E and stitches and all sorts. We got in at some ungodly hour, had a cup of sweet tea (the cure for everything) and fell into deep, dreamless slumber.

It’s all ok now. But I can’t quite shake the scent of blood, the faint metallic whiff.