I was all set up to do a bit of blogging last night when C. asked if I could do him some mango. Next thing you know he's got his mango and yogurt and I'm sat crying on the kitchen floor.

Skidded on some over ripe mango, which I hadn't realised I'd dropped, and smashed into the kitchen cabinets. I thought I'd broken my toes. Agony.

Did C. come running to see if I was alright? No. Apparently, I am always crashing about and swearing so he didn't realise anything out of the ordinary had happened.

Did I then get sympathy? No. C. washed up his dish round me, said "you need some ice" and went back to the football.

Didn't want to blog after that.

PS. I forgot to mention I'd already punctured my finger on the shell of a frozen prawn. Blood everywhere.