We never really know ourselves do we? I was reminded of something, last night, that happened to me many years ago, and I will, with your patience, relate the story here.
In one of the public houses that I owned, the main water pipe, leading into the commercial kitchen, ruptured just after we had closed-up one lunchtime. The manager and I tried to repair it, but failed, leaving us with no option but to wait for a plumber. Whilst waiting, we ‘swept’ the water through the preparation room across a passageway and down the steps to the cellar where it could be pumped out.
It was exhausting work, as the mains just keeping pouring water for about an hour. My feet were soaked by the time that the repair had been made and, not surprisingly, I took off my shoes and socks at the first opportunity. I then, by accident, trod on a bee.
About ten minutes later my lips started to feel numb, as though anaesthetised at the dentist. Then I came out in lumps all down my arms and across my chest, next I was short of breath. My heart-rate began to slow dramatically and I could feel the slowing pulse pounding in my head. I was lucky, the managers wife had been a nurse and knew the signs, she called an ambulance and my life was saved.
I am allergic to bee and wasp stings and supposed to carry an adrenalin syringe with me if I venture out, but I don’t. So there we have it, two things that I know about myself, one the allergy and two; I’m stupid.