A Fall

Well, I learned a lesson yesterday - the lesson being this: if you're walking along a bridleway in deepest Kent (or indeed anywhere) and decide to consult your map, stop walking, unless you're absolutely sure what lies underfoot for the next few yards. I thought I knew there were no impediments on this soft, smooth, dry path, but I soon discovered otherwise. A sturdy tree root tripped me over and threw me down, straight onto my face and, apparently, my right hand - a good thing that path was relatively soft.
 There was blood, but not much; my nose was bleeding, but not for long, my upper lip was clearly cut, and there was a bruise-coloured swelling on my right hand. I sprang to my feet, as one does - nothing to see here - dabbed at the blood, roughly assessed the damage, and strode on. Then I looked at that map again (this time breaking stride) - and realised I couldn't make head or tail of it.
 I recognised no names on it, or in my notes. It seemed to be the wrong map, with the wrong notes - was it the map from my last Kentish jaunt? Overlooking the evidence of the bloodstains on the map - my brain was really not working very well at all - I began to wonder if there'd been some kind of timeslip. Where was I? How was I going to carry on walking with the wrong map? This was all very strange. Happily I'd taken a few pictures earlier with my phone, so I had a look - yes, it was today's date - and noted the locations. Looking at that bloodstained map again, I finally spotted a name I recognised and everything fell into place. I walked on.
This morning, I find my swollen upper lip has given me something of a Simpsonian overbite, and the cut looks quite impressive, the damage extending into the philtrum (a word everyone should use once in their lifetime). At least it's given me a rare opportunity to polish up that old chestnut, 'You should see the other fellow.'