'Why', said a friend at the weekend, 'are you limping?'

'Because of a sardine', I said. And she looked at me closely, checking no doubt for signs of twitching, or drink.

'Dare I ask why it is because of a sardine?', she said.

So I told her.

'On Friday night the grey cat came in demanding food and I gave him a sachet of rabbit and duck bits. Actually it occurred to me at the time that he eats better than I do. It's a fair old time since I've had duck.

'But anyway, he ate his fill, had his little saucer of milk, which I know isn't good for him but you try telling him that. Then he went off to find a door open and a bed to snooze on.

'Shortly after that the ginger cat came in, Thomas Jefferson, now known as TJ because shouting the full name seems a trifle precious in Callington.

'He too demanded food and I realised I hadn't remembered to buy any and a search of the larder yielded nothing suitable except a tin of tuna in curry sauce, which isn't to his taste.

'Then I remembered that the day before I had roasted some fresh sardines for my supper; very nice too, just sprinkled with a little virgin olive oil and a touch of black pepper and lemon. I hadn't eaten them all, and had put four on a plate to eat cold with a little mayonnaise.

'That would probably do, because he likes fish. The other one doesn't really, although he will occasionally accept a prawn or eat a plateful of fishy food when he's starving, or a cat's version of starving which means he hasn't eaten for half an hour.

'Actually, it's always a puzzle to me why cats like fish at all. It is unlikely their ancestors ever went fishing in the wild, or saw sight of a haddock. It's just another of life's mysteries.

'I set the four sardines in TJ's bowl and he attacked the first one, so the worry was over, until the next morning when I had to face two hungry cats and tell them gently that they'd have to wait until the shops opened or make do with tuna in curry sauce for the time being.

' A little later I popped into the downstairs loo, which is next to the cat's feeding place, to catch up on a little light reading.

'My big mistake on emerging was to forget that TJ never eats his food in a bowl, he likes to lift it out and carry it a little way away. Perhaps he hopes it will move about a bit like a mouse and he can torment it, but you don't get that with Whiskas or lightly roasted sardines for that matter..

'Anyway, he'd finished three sardines off but was obviously too full to tackle the fourth, so he'd just left it and gone off. I could hear him scratching the hall carpet, which he does when he's just been fed, or just come in, or is cross, or come to think of it, whenever he likes because he knows it's forbidden and usually gets him some instant attention.

'Actually I should have remembered about him moving food. The other day he did it with a sausage. No, we're not in the habit of giving the cats leftovers and in fact he had already stolen the sausage off a plate and dropped it on the floor, so I put it in his bowl.

'Of course, being a cat, he didn't eat it when it was legal, but knocked it around a bit until it was in the hall on the middle of the floor. Which can be a bit difficult when people knock at the door and wonder why a sausage is in the middle of the parquet.

'All you can do is back kick it with your heel and hope it rolls under somewhere big enough to hide it.'

But back to the story.

'There it was, the sardine, on the floor, which is quarry tiled and already slippery, and I was wearing my slipper socks, which are the least attractive fashion footwear item but wonderfully comfortable and who looks at your feet when you're 59 anyway? Or the rest of you come to think of it.

'So I stepped right on it, and whoosh, off I went as if I was on a skate board. Only in this case it was a sardine board.

'I did a kind of frantic slaalom, twisted round, fell down the step into the utility area like a whirling Dervish and in an effort to save falling over threw myself against the door into the garage, whacking my leg at the same time as twisting my back. It's amazing what damage you can do to yourself trying to prevent damage to yourself.

'So that's it really. Net result is a bruised thigh, muscle spasm in my back which affects my leg, and a very smelly slipper sock.

'Statistics say that most accidents occur in the home but I bet that very few of them involve sardines.'