I am not in pain.
I am not in pain.
I am sat typing this with a bag of frozen peas strapped to the toes of my left foot with a tea towel (clean). I have only just about got over the embarrassment of the last major toe incident (circa late November/early December 2007) which involved me walking around school with no shoes for almost two weeks.
Want some background here goes....
C. text me to say: he'd found my (lost) pencil case in a fishy bag [that is a bag with fish on it; it doesn't smell]; my tax disk had arrived with a bright yellow letter and could I buy some milk on the way home.
I was ever so pleased about the pencil case - even the kids were worried about my multi-coloured Muji pens (not to mention the English coursework on my memory stick) and very excited about the yellow letter (the latter's me not the kids).
I played it cool when I eventually arrived home (if there's something wrong with the Blackwall Tunnel there's no getting off that damned Island; even though the two aren't directly linked). I called my parents about arrangements for mum's birthday meal tomorrow.
On asking for details (like where and when) my sister could only tell me she was going to the doctor's, my mum told me she can't drive and (thank the non-existent lord) my dad and I managed to agree a time and place convenient to ourselves.
I calmly cooked my dinner (simple tomato pasta with olives and manchego) and took the yellow letter and a glass of red wine excitedly into the front room...
...where I SMASHED my left foot into the bottom right hand corner of one of my recently acquired sofas (swapped with sister for a camera). Being something of an expert in the toe-injury field I'm beginning to think (an hour after the event) that the littlest one may be broken.
I will share two things with you from the envelope of my yellow letter (the third's my full name and address and you're not having that):
1 comment:
are you a professional footballer in disguise?
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