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This is where you stick random tidbits of information about yourself.
Age 23, living in sin in Twickenham with Cheesy
Likes
Movies
Books
Writing
Theatre
Hugs
Kittens
Chess
Scrabble (mostly beating Cheesy's butt)
Buffy The Vampire Slayer
Dislikes
Vegetables
Arguments
Cleaning
Trashy TV
Pretensions
Public Transport
Pets
Rabbits-Bambi, Fern, Sooty, Pippa-all deceased
Dog-Sammy-deceased :(
Fish-CatFlap-recently (and finally!) deceased
Cat-Tiggy-still scratching
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Technically Rachel
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Friday, April 02, 2004
And so I return to the homeland once more this weekend. Yay! (Please note no sarcasm).
This week's been kind of cool. I quite enjoy being on holiday (cough *unemployed*). Though I'm sure that pesky money problem will drive me back to work before long. Been catching up on those all important appointments like dentist (one filling needed - grump), and hairdressers. Even managed to go see my physio, who has since last I saw him, left his wife and bought an apartment in central london. Shows that a lot can happen in 6 months. Apparently my neck is a bit out of sorts again - which at £50 a session is not good news. I have whiplash you see. And no ordinary whiplash at that - oh no. I have rollar-blader whiplash.
To explain:
2 years ago. Walking ever so happily along Whitehall - for those of you who know it, a somewhat busy populated street of business-people and disguised politicians. My bus-stop is a little ahead, and blast it if that isn't my bus coming up the street. Better start a mild jog to get there is time, right? I turn back, quite sensibly I feel, to check the road ahead for people I might bump into, when out of the corner to my left, I see a rollar-blader moving along. Here I had one of those mental processes that seems should have taken 10 minutes which in fact took a millisecond: "My, he's going too fast. He's gonna crash into something. He's going to crash into those two expensive looking business-ladies!!! Phew - he swerved just in time and.... POW!!!!!!"
Yes, the lovely gentleman swerved to avoid the two potential "sue the ass off you" lawyer types, and ploughed straight into me. Obviously in the impact he needed to protect himself from my face. And obviously his elbow would do the trick. How crap is that? The guy crashes into me, and raises his arm to my face - you know, in case it might have injured him.
I've never been punched before - I imagine that it was somewhat like that - my whole face exploding. My first thought was that he'd broken my jaw, or cracked my teeth, and once the head spinning stopped I checked about and things seemed ok. I was a crying shaking mess, which the rollar-blader seemed to interpret as me being fine, and scooted off - cause you know "he was in a rush". Cretin.
And herein represents my eternal spat with London - the people. No one stopped. No one asked me if I was ok, or offered to help pick me up off the floor. They all just carried on. London bites this way. In Manchester I once tripped over my own stupid flares and cut open my knee and at least three people stopped to check I was fine. It was quite a dramatic fall, in that Ally McBeal kind of way - but it was my own damn fault. Here I was in London - a victim of reckless rollar-blading, and no sympathy whatsoever. It wasn't till I got on the bus I even realised my chin was bleeding. No wonder everyone was shuffling to avoid me. Tsk.
And so, I had lamo whiplash from an elbow to the face at high speed. Trust me to get a comedy injury. But I still suffer from it every now and again - which pretty much sucks. I wouldn't even know the loser if I saw him, saw no compensation for little old me. Grump.
Anyway, should be a good time back in Lancs - some more long overdue catching up to do. I get to meet with the scary theatre committee tomorrow too - eep. I have my "you hate lesbians!" speech all prepared.
8:29 am
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