Today

I'm fed up. I managed to fall out of bed last week while staying in Italy. I'm certainly very bruised and am not entirely convinced that I haven't cracked a rib or so. I'm fed up because it hurts a lot and I can't do ordinary things like roll over in bed (even without falling out) and because I feel so stupid.

I have to drive to Grantham on business next Tuesday and I'm not looking forward to it one bit.

In My Day

This wouldn't be the first time I've cracked a rib. Both of the other occurrence involved egg sandwiches and were immediately before holidays.

The first time was the day before our first trip to Italy in 1996. I popped out at lunchtime to buy a sandwich. I passed a beggar sitting on the pavement, but I had no change. So I thought I'd buy the sandwich first, then I'd have some change for the beggar. I came out of the bakers clutching the sandwich and my half open purse. Crash! Straight over something or other. The sandwich went one way, the change another and my skirt flew elegantly over my head. People helped me up and gathered my change. I lost my sandwich and was certainly not in the mood to give any beggar some money. And my rib twinged all the time I was in lovely Verona.

The second was just before a trip to West Cork in 1998. I rushed to finish my work and finally cleared my desk by 2.30. Just time to buy a sandwich and dap up to the bank to get foreign money. Goody, they had nice egg and tomato sandwiches at the bakers. I bought one and hurried up the street, taking a bite as I went. Crash! There I was, on the pavement, face pillowed on the sandwich, my skirt around my waist. I scrambled up as people asked me how I was. "My sandwich!" was all I could cry. "I've lost my sandwich!" I continued up to the bank, pulling bits of egg and tomato pips out of hair. They must have thought I was mad. This time I'd cracked a rib high in my chest and couldn't even lift a cup of tea to my lips.

Do you know, some people go through their whole lives without so much a cracking a little toe?