In the wars

My Grandmother always used to chastise me whenever I clumsily bashed myself. She'd tell me that I would have problems with my knees when I grew up if I continued to carelessly thwack them on the furniture, something I could never quite understand, but who actually understands what their old granny says anyway?
Some years have passed since then and although I'm slightly more cautious than I used to be, I still manage to injure myself, albeit superficially, on a regular basis.
Yesterday was one of those days.
Whilst opening a blind, I knocked the above sign off its little hook. One of the corners landed sharply on my bare toes, causing a short string of expletives to whimper out of my mouth. Not bad. The sign is still intact and back in its place, despite receiving a copious amount of scowls.
The rest of the day went by smoothly without further incident.
Upon climbing into bed however, I managed to hit a bone in my foot so hard that I leapt sideways and shot out of the room at lightning speed and in sheer agony. Why and how, I know not.
I must have woken the entire marina as I 'aaaaaaaaaaaaaaagggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhaghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh %£&$*'d my way around the apartment on one leg. It hurt so much that my leg ached up to the knee.
Poor Fur nearly had a coronary, as he was half asleep at the time and looked slightly pale by the time he caught up with me and found out what was wrong.