A very unplanned day

There is an ongoing battle in my brain, in which I cannot decide which mantra to live. 1) lower your expectations and reduce disappointment or 2) expect greatness, receive greatness. 

This particular day required the very tiny expectation that one might have of a city; to be functioning. 

Mother has an upcoming important business meeting with a fancy Lord and, of course, shopping for appropriate attire became the top priority. She cannot rock up in her Hawaiian sarong and curlers (the 'everyday' fashion choice). So, on Saturday, I appointed myself 'personal shopper' for the day and took Mother shopping in Barcelona. The ease of public transport remains and, twenty five minutes later, we arrive on Passeig de Gracia. I notice Philipp Plein is closed. Prada, a few doors down is also seemingly closed. As is Mango. Interesting. I don't mention this to Mother, as she may erupt into a violent panic. Unfortunately, Mother spots Tommy Hilfiger and tries to walk in. 

"Darling! Where's the doorman? There's no doorman! What is one supposed to do in these situations?" Mother's face crinkles.

She has not noticed that the door is locked. There are also no lights.

Suddenly, a voice comes from the ground below us. There is a handsome, homeless man (albeit in shiny brown loafers that may or may not have been by an Italian designer) who is speaking to us... along with a Chinese couple holding a large camera and looking equally perplexed.

"Yes, the shops are closed - it is a fiesta today."

"WHAT?! You're joking, aren't you. You ARE joking?"

"Yes, it is the fiesta of Barcelona today. There is a Nike shop down there that is open...."

"Oh my God. Oh my GOD. Oh my God! I can't believe it. I can't BELIEVE IT! No. No. NO!  They can't be serious. They cannot be serious. Another fiesta? Another fiesta?!"

Mother erupts in the street, to the homeless man's surprise (he is not used to the British outcry). 

sad and empty

I thank the gentleman on the floor and guide Mother anywhere else. I, too am upset about this inconvenience .... as there couldn't really be anything more inconvenient on this particular day. Nonetheless, after a few moments of breathing, Mother and I decide to "embrace the situation". Sort of. There is one store open round the corner and Mother waltzes in and makes a direct path towards the shop assistant. 

"Hello! Now, I want to buy something in here because I want to CONGRATULATE you on the fact that you're open!"

N.B. Mother enunciates the word 'congratulate' quite aggressively with her mouth. I worry, again, that her jaw may dislocate.

Two minutes later, I see Mother in deep conversation with a woman browsing through the cardigans. I can hear her.

"You know, Spain complain about their financial difficulties but this is why there's a crisis here! THIS IS WHY!"

The woman is from Canada and slowly nods; "Yes... I was wondering why the shops are closed. Why are they closed? They don't close on a Saturday in Vancouver... there'd be a riot!"

"Yes, I know! Well, it's another damn fiesta, isn't it! As if they need another one! This is why there's a crisis in Spain, you know. It's Sunday tomorrow - they close anyway! Why wouldn't they just move the fiesta day onto tomorrow? They are losing millions of euros, let me tell you! The amount of money Chanel would have made today! Saturday, of all days! I mean really!"

After another ten minutes of telling the entire store why Spain is having a financial crisis, I drag Mother out and make our way towards a different part of town. A shred of hope remains within us that there may be shops open in the quieter part of town.

As we head towards the other end of town, a swarm of over 300 humans are flying in our direction and we soon realise that the fiesta is happening everywhere. All over the city. Our last shred of hope dissolves into the giant bobbing Queen's head as it passes us in the crowd. 

Right, so quite clearly any kind of shopping is out of the window. 

As afternoon brews, it is time to find somewhere to eat lunch. Mother's mantra of "embracing the situation" returns (briefly) and decides we ought to bask in the fiesta spirit and relax over some food. Neither of us realised how difficult it could be to find a table anywhere on this particular day. 

Eventually, after much fluster, we find an organic, non-Spanish cafe. In fact, Mother finds it whilst I wait a few blocks away (I avoided the trek of restaurant-hunting because of my knee situation) and, when I arrive at the restaurant 30 minutes later, I see Mother waiting outside with a glass of cava in her hand. Of course.

As I browse the menu, I see Mother is not. Instead, Mother is transfixed by a waiter and immediately calls him over. For what, I am not sure - as she has not seen the menu yet. 

"Darling, could we possibly move to that table over there, please?" Mother bats her eyelashes expectantly.

I am a little sceptical at this request, considering we have waited a long time for an available table - so an instant relocation may not be as easily accommodated as Mother thinks. 

I am proven wrong as the waiter happily moves us to the table near the window. I notice Mother is cava-less. This is odd and as I look at her I see her struggling to recall what is missing.

"Darling I d--- OH! My cava! He must have taken it away... Wait uh---"

Mother proceeds to hail the waiter down again;

"Darling, sorry - you took my cava away, darling!" She pulls a sort of sad-puppy face.

"Oh... I- I- I'm sorry yes, yes I bring you another one don't worry" Lovely waiter says.

As he brings Mother a fresh glass of cava (may I add here that the previous glass that was taken away was very nearly finished...), Mother gently grabs the waiter's forearm, before he can escape, to ask him his name.

"Luis Miguel but it's Luisimi for short"

"How beautiful! Oh how wonderful!! Luisimity? Loosemiti? Louis? Oh anyway it's gorgeous where are you from? Are you Spanish?"

"I am from Argentina, actually"

"OHHH!!" She literally shouts "OF COURSE YOU ARE! Ohhh how lovely, that's why you are so SMILEY!!!! You know, all the people from Argentina are just SOOOO lovely!"

It continues.

As Luisimi brings me my calming lavender tea (N.B. some might call me a grandma but you do not realise the necessity of calming tea when you are with Mother) I offer Mother to taste it. She does. 

"Hmmm.... lovely, darling! Yes... what is that?" Her face grimaces.

"It's calming lavender tea, Mother"

"Yes. I see. What sort of alcohol is infused? Because it's quite subtle, isn't it? Is it vodka, darling? Or perhaps gin because that would go with lavender, surely."

"Uh.... it's just tea, Mother. There isn't actually alcohol in it..."

"What do you mean, NO alcohol? What are you drinking then, darling?"

"What? Tea.... the tea? I'm drinking tea. See?"

Mother's confusion fades as the food arrives and her attention is diverted towards Luisimi and his bright smile. 

quintessentially 'us'.

"Barcelona is lovely but it's always so much better with cava, don't you think, darling?"

"Mhmm."

As we eat, an older gentleman is seated at the table behind Mother. Instantly I am uplifted (I love old people) and even more so now that I see he is dining alone. My heart swells and Mother whips around to see what's going on, with great fear of missing out on any restaurant antics that may be happening behind her. The man does not realise that this restaurant is a vegetarian restaurant and is perplexed when the waitress tells him there is no meat. Bless his heart, he hesitantly orders the risotto and waits patiently.

It arrives and he looks quite pleased as he powers through it. Mother frequently and not subtly spins around to check his satisfaction levels. As if she were the chef seeking approval. 

As the man leaves after his meal, he walks past our table. He does not get very far, however, as Mother suddenly launches herself at him and clenches her hand around his jacketed arm. He jumps and looks around, ever so startled, to see Mother grinning up at him. Her hand still tightly secured around him.

"It's good, isn't it? Did you like it?" Mother attempts to get across her questions in a bizarre Danish accent.

He responds timidly, still shocked; "Please?" as if to say "Please let go of me you crazy woman".

" It's good, no? You like?" Mother's accent remains.

"Yes.... uh- yes you are right.. yes. Ok." He says, nodding and trying to pry Mothers grip from his arm.

"Bye!" Mother shouts at him excitedly.

The man scuttles off and, soon after, we do too. 

In the lovely sunny afternoon, Mother and I are walking through some back streets of Barcelona (often where one might find a little hidden treasure of a store) with the mild plan of heading towards the beach. As we are strolling along the wide, empty street looking at the buildings, I am jolted forward. Literally. Something very heavy has just been smacked into my ankle and a human force has pushed me. Instant fear... I think I'm being mugged. Panic strikes me as my horrified face turns to Mother. She grabs me and we both turn around to see a haggard, dirty old woman that strongly resembles the Evil Witch from Snow White, proffering the apple. She doesn't say anything - only grunts and mutters something like "MOVE" at me whilst struggling with a large 5 litre bucket of water as she continues to push past me until she gets to her porch. I remain in shock as I am being physically shooed out of the way. Another encounter with a crazy woman fuels Mother to react quite aggressively;

"HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" She shouts at Evil Witch.

Evil Witch responds, grimly; "Move faster!" with a surprising American accent.

Mother is taken aback and says; "NO!   NO MOVE FASTER!    NO!   NO MOVE FASTER THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!!"

The old hag scuttles into her hole with her bucket of water. (Sorry, I wouldn't normally be so rude with my descriptive words but there were a number of ways for that woman to handle the situation with consideration. She just bulldozed me instead).

Those of you who may be concerned that Mother is to attend her business meeting in a sarong and coconut bra; we plan to return to the city of shops next weekend. Pray for us that there will not be another fiesta. Or another crazy woman.

xoxo

MOTHER'S QOTD (quote of the day)

Upon being offered a red rose by a foreign 'salesman'

 "No, because we've come to a restaurant, haven't we? Not a garden centre."

xoxo

Daughter goes to battle

I am still buzzing with rage from this experience, so brace yourselves for some profanity (sorry).

Last week, I had to make the difficult effort to travel to a specific electronic store; 'Media Markt' in a shopping mall in order to return another piece of technology . I say 'difficult' because I had to 'public transport' my way, with the assistance of Mother wheeling me around. During my short stint as a temporarily-disabled human, I have learnt the many hidden issues that disabled people face every day. I am actually grateful to have had the experience.

So, here I am with Mother in Media Markt patiently waiting for Carlos the TV expert to finish helping an old couple choose their screen. I notice that Carlos is demonstrating the USB slot functions in the side of a TV... by using the couple's personal USB stick. All of a sudden, a large album of photos appear on this large screen. Amongst the photos of their grandchildren, I spot a slightly grim image of the wife. Naked. In a bath. In a foetal position. Swiftly I wheel myself away and try to find Mother. Mother is browsing in another section and then we notice Carlos is just about to be available, so we make our way over to him.

Carlos is lovely (he only speaks Spanish so I am the translator). Having been in discussions over Sony vs Samsung for about five minutes, I hear a squawk from afar; "I just have one question oh my GOD". At this point, this noise has not registered with me because a) honestly I don't think it's got anything to do with me and b) because I can't easily turn around to see what's going on (wheelchair, remember?). 

A few moments later, the squawk is significantly louder and I realise this noise is closer to me than I originally thought. 

"Hey! I just have one question! I've been here an hour oh my God! Just one question so I can gooooooo!!" 

The voice vibrates around my head and I recognise it to be foreign. Not Spanish and not English but a different ...specific... nationality I shall not mention.

Okay,  this woman is having a stressed day, clearly. Is she talking to us three? Probably not. Because that would be rude, wouldn't it? To interrupt. I forget about it. Although, I notice Carlos looks up. His face is graced with concern but remains calm and I see him look above my head and explain with only his hands that he is busy and will attend to her when he's finished with us. Mother is beside me and I see her look behind at this loud woman in slight shock. 

I cannot see what's going on behind me but my ears are alert.

 
"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY NOT GOING TO LET ME ASK JUST ONE QUESTIONNNNNN???" 
 

Okay. The lunatic is right behind me now. 

"You're just talking about TVs I have one question about a car radio oh my GODD!"

I can hear her jangly gold jewellery. I can also, unfortunately, feel my ears shattering a tiny bit because she's yelling. Right behind me. Literally. 

Carlos is perplexed at this... mental case in front of him. 

Mother politely smiles at her and quietly says; "Look. Don't shout at me, it's not my problem. Go and complain to Media Markt about the wait."

"IT'S JUST ONE QUESTION FOR GOD'S SAKE OH MY F**KING GOD" 

Oh great, she's even louder. Her pitch has risen by like... a hundred, too. 

Carlos is silent. I see him observe the jungle scene behind me with concern. He looks at me and tells me not to worry. Bless him.

The crazy hyena is moving in. She's moving in and I can feel her behind me. 

Mother calmly says; "Please remove yourself from my vicinity" and turns back to Carlos.  (what? what? calmly? Yes, I know - I don't know how this has happened but evidently, today our roles reversed and Mother has zero rage.)

"Are you f**king seriously not going to let me ask one question???? I'VE BEEN HERE AN HOUR OH MY GOD ARE YOU JOKING OH MY GOD YOU ARE ---" 

This b*tch is now screaming like a wild animal at my Mother... and poor Carlos!

All of a sudden, I lose it. I whip my steaming head right around to face this Gucci-padded, turnip of a bleached-blonde Barbie. 

"EXCUUUUUUUSE ME?!?!?!?" I actually yell at her with my beetroot-face. 

"EXCUSE MEEEE?! DON'T YELL AT HER!!!!!" I aggressively point my finger to Mother whilst growling at this crazy brat.

"AND HE DOESN'T EVEN SPEAK ENGLISH!!! HE DOESN'T SPEAK ENGLISHHHHHH!!!!!!" I roar at her, whilst pointing at Carlos.

"BACK OFF!!!!!!!" I shout at her. 

"I DON´T CARE HE DOESN´T SPEAK ANY ENGLISH! I DON´T CARE!" This woman is psychotic. And stupid. Very, very stupid.

I feel like I have just exploded 24 years-worth of rage! 

Mother then bends down to hold my giant, red face. "Darling, don't get stressed" she says to me, before turning to the hyena and saying; "she can't get stressed, it makes her worse!!"

Which - disclaimer - is 100% true. The stress tenses up my muscles and locks my neck and jaw, trapping nerves and all sorts. 

Then, as if my mind hadn't already been blown by this tantrum-adult, Barbie arrogantly huffs;

"Oh, she'll live!"

I nearly choked.

I hear her turn on her heel, defeated. As she turns, she says;

"She's only in a f**king wheelchair."

....

With this, my jaw drops. I have no words. What? Is she joking????

Carlos doesn't really understand what has happened but he is very sympathetic. He is so lovely. Mother is worried about my blood boiling over and out of my ears as she bends down and comforts me. I can't believe how calm Mother is, I am impressed. I can't believe I flew off the handle. The medication must have transformed me.

Oh, also - just N.B. - upon leaving the store, I notice Barbie and her dopy drip of a fiancé asking way more than "just one question" to Carlos.

Oh my God I feel like I've been in a warped episode of TOWIE without the margaritas.

xoxo

UPDATE

Okay - hello again, all. So I have a development in The Accident Saga. Since my last post, there is good news and bad news. Mostly bad news, to be honest - but the good news is that my cankle was very short-lived. *cheers*.

Oh - and my foot is almost healed too! So, I suppose two bits of good news :)

However, the bad news is that my knee has not been so fortunate. After having it drained, I thought all was going to be well and I'd be back on my feet. Instead, my knee inflamed again and I could barely waddle. Odd, considering when I had it drained years ago in England, they just popped a plaster over the needle prick and sent me on my way to heal in a few days - whereas here, in Spain, they wrapped it up in a cast (as previous post) as protection. Anyway, I had to revisit the hospital A&E to get more fluid taken out (a frightening prospect as I knew the level of pain I would be facing). A nice, strong woman from Argentina had me in and out very quickly (and wrapped my leg in just one light bandage.... how confident she must have been).

The following day I rested. The day after, I went out for an ice cream with friends (only a few minutes from home - don't panic, I barely moved!) and then, that evening I met Mother for a drink at the beach club. Having had zero hours sleep the night before (this particular weekend our town held the annual Reggae Festival, shipping in famous artists from Jamaica and California. Very fun... very marijuana... very loud..), I was sleepy and in need of a nice sunset drink (still no alcohol yet, which upsets Mother greatly). However, as I was on my way to meet Mother, I developed a pain in my jaw (I've had this previously, identified as a dislocated jaw by a dentist). This time, it was a lot worse. From that moment on, the pain only got worse - meaning I couldn't open my mouth to talk, eat, drink etc. Of course, Mother has been a very good, if unqualified, nurse - for which I am grateful and couldn't really cope without her during this injury. However, she managed to conduct a full meeting with the beach club owner (where did he come from?! He honestly just appeared when I blinked!) and his assistant. As I sat beside them all, pretending tears of pain weren't streaming down my cheeks, I tried to poke Mother very subtly until she got the message.

Ah, finally we are on the way to hospital. Again. It's now 10pm and I haven't eaten anything other than a sorbet all day long. A&E at 10pm is rather busy (because Spanish people like to do everything at night - including visits to the hospital, it would seem). Nonetheless, I was assessed by a nurse (another woman....

... Let me just interrupt myself here and comment on the overwhelmingly poor ratio of men to women. The Spanish women are incredibly good at hospitality. That is all. When it comes to any kind of mental work - you may as well ask a donkey. Occasionally you may find a professional woman such as a marine biologist or a brain surgeon who is able to perform the task at hand very well. Other than that, these women have absolutely no sense of urgency. They don't know what they're doing and they never, ever get it right. I have made approximately 1 million phone calls to companies in Spain in the last three and a half years - of which all 1 million began with a female representative. It isn't until I ask to speak with a man that I actually get somewhere - because they stop and listen. That is, if I ever get connected to this male colleague (most of the time these women fail to operate the phone system and cut me off).

Okay - back to the story.

So - the assessing nurse listens to me explaining how I think this jaw problem is related to my previous injuries from my foot and knee. Of course, she interrupts me and says; "Yes but are you here for your foot or your knee or your jaw though...?"

I am called through, some ten minutes later, by a man (WHAT?! HE'S A HE??? Rejoice!) and taken to a room. He was lovely and told me the doctor would be in shortly. As I lie there in pain, Mother is rambling about how I should behave.

"Darling, make sure you tell the doctor you're in pain!"

I glare at her, tears streaming down my face.

"Honey - you mustn't forget - say about how it must be related to your knee, darling!"

"Darling, now - shall I explain to the doctor that you can't really tell him everything because it hurts? I'll explain it better you see - I won't miss anything out"

I nod lightly.

The doctor enters. Oh for GOD'S SAKE IT'S A BL**DY WOMAN!? I sigh and try not to sob. Not that it would look much different to my current face to be honest.

"I am your doctor. Well, actually - I am a surgeon. What is the problem? Tell the surgeon. What happened?"

She is terrifically stern looking - with glasses and a permanent frown and black short cropped hair with disturbing earrings.

I point to Mother and the doctor turns around, slightly surprised to see her sitting there.

"I am going to explain to you what happened because it hurts her too much to talk" Mother says. Mother is able to conduct her true self as this doctor speaks very good English.

"No. I prefer you to tell me . Then your mum can speak afterwards. You speak." Topaz says. (N.B. we are going to call her Topaz in this post, to make it easier for reference. She was no gem though. More like a heavy rock.)

Topaz spins back to me and raises her eyebrows as I begin to mumble the entire story.

She then whizzes out of the room like a moth and returns with some kind of ear torch. She lodges the torch into my left ear, and then my right. She produces a wooden stick from her pocket and heavily pokes it in my mouth.

"Say 'aaah'"

"Aaah..." I manage quietly

"Ehh, come on! No! Say 'ahhhhh!!" She says, with a slight patronising tone.

I tried again. She then grabs my face in between her gloves and starts thrusting it around like a rubber doll, pushing my jaw bone this way and that. I am trying not to scream but she is fully aware I am in intense pain.

"Eh, c'mon now - it's not that bad!" Again - making me feel like a baby.

I wanted to say; "WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO RAM MY FIST IN YOUR JAW AND DISLOCATE IT, MADAM?!"

I didn't.

After sufficient rattling around my jaw, she says;

"You have an ear infection. This jaw is painful because of the ATM tramitifcations  and judistification of the traumatication and so the tube of the REM is in the blah blah causing your pain here in the blah blah" (Okay that's not accurate but I don't understand medical terminology whatever the language may be).

Mother pipes up; "No. no, no, no" - she shakes her finger - "No, it is not an ear infection. Now, I am no doctor but this is not an ear infection, excuse me. This is a dislocated jaw. Actually."

"No. If she had a dislocated jaw, you would see that the bottom part of her mouth would be right over here."

"WELL IT WAS!" Mother suddenly exclaims.

What is going on?? Mother hates this 'big for her boots' woman so much she has resorted to warping the truth. My jaw - in no way possible - had popped over to the other side of my face at any point today.

"What?" Topaz looks confused and turns back to me "Well, you never said this to me! You never tell me that this happened! Why?"

She is cross.

I am stunned. What is happening? I feel like I'm back at school trying to defend my best friend and her weird fantasy story about Felicity trying to steal her gel pens.

"Uh.... well -- I mean...." I look at Mother but Topaz steps between Mother and I, blocking my view.

"I... Well, I didn't really remember what happened this morning.... it's just .. lots of pain.."

Mother interrupts; "YOU SEE??? THIS IS WHY SHE WANTED ME TO SAY EVERYTHING! I CAN EXPLAIN IT BETTER! I DIDN'T FORGET!"

At this point, I shed more tears in an attempt to distract everyone from this ridiculous discussion. I do not remember how this story of the jaw dislocation dissolved but it did.

Topaz continues to explain to mother and I that perhaps I do have symptoms of a dislocated jaw, which are likely to be caused by this ear infection as it affects a lot more areas. She then runs through more symptoms that I recognise and prescribes me antibiotic drops.

Mother then instructs Topaz to ask the traumatology department to reassess my knee as it's inflamed again. (True - no sooner had the woman from Argentina drained it - the knee filled up with fluid again.)

Topaz shrugs and leaves the room.

Eventually, the nice man from the beginning escorts me out and into the traumatology department. He asks me how I am and I should wait for the doctor for just a moment. Shortly after, he returns with a doctor .... HE IS ANOTHER MAN! Thank the heavens! At this point I want to say; "I don't care what you do to my leg, I trust you with everything!" The nice man (Augustus Gloop, for the sake of writing) is standing there to help with translation *yay* and the doctor gently feels my huge knee. After explaining everything, the doctor says he will take a little more fluid out but this time test it and have an x-ray too.

I am escorted again to the x-ray room first and greeted by a young man (woohoo!) as he takes me to a dark room and efficiently carries out the x-ray. He then wheels me back to the doctor for the knee operation. I ask if I can have anaesthetic because, honestly, I can't handle any more pain. He says something in Spanish and Augustus looks at me with a sorry face and explains that it wouldn't be possible. However, the lovely male doctor with common sense and an open-mind has managed to administer a strong pain killer, swiftly, into my bottom. Actually - Augustus did it.

"You will feel a little pain down your leg for about a minute but don't worry - it will be fine soon, are you okay, Charlot?"

Woah - okay - that's a new pain. Hey, at least another part of my body gets to experience the work of a needle. I'm sure it felt an outcast.

Also - quite sweet - the Spanish don't understand the whole "Charlotte-Elizabeth" thing so, most of the time, they say 'shallot' like I am a small onion.

Laying there with pain streaming up and down my body, I find it difficult and inappropriate to correct the lovely Augustus, despite Mother's glare at me.

A few moments later, the doctor is preparing more needles and opening loads of packages of things. I am trying my best to do my meditational breathing, which I have learnt a new technique I call Picasso breathing; which requires you to breathe once in, once out, two in, two out, three in, three out etc.

Mother is behind my head squeezing my elbows; 

"IS THIS A GOOD PLACE TO STAND, DARLING??" she shout-whispers.

"Actually *breathes* could you not *breathes* hold my funny bones please *breathes*"

"Oh!" Mother retracts her grip "Sorry, darling. I'll just hold your hand then, yes? Do you think the doctor needs me to help pass things?"

"He has an assistant. Just stand there and try not to narrate his actions please."

Augustus checks on me again, before the doctor gets to work.

Fifteen minutes later Augustus says; "okay, we are finished now".

The doctor and Augustus Gloop leave the room as another man enters with a woman to apply my bandage. The woman is here to hold my leg straight, which makes sense; first a light gauze sock reaching from my thigh to my foot graces my leg. Then, a compression sock. Then FIVE rolls of loo roll. Okay, so maybe it's medical roll. Either way - FIVE ROLLS?! This is ridiculous. Then THREE rolls of cotton wool. I'm not joking. Finally, a huge wad of sticky medical tape stuff. My leg has magically transformed into a tree trunk. It is three times the size of my other leg. The male doctor raps against the hard-as-rock bandage with his knuckles to check it's on securely.  I'll need a chainsaw to get it off, sir - I'm pretty sure you got the job done.

All the while, I notice (when the doctor giggles to his female assistant saying 'foto') that Mother has taken it upon herself to document this experience once again. She has her phone out, snapping away at my sorry state.

"It's for England, don't worry! I will show England how it's done! It's much better here!" She explains, happily.

I have to translate, unfortunately, with an apologetic look on my face.

Augustus returns and helps me to relocate to another bed in the hallway whilst the test results develop. He brings me ice for my knee and Mother contemplates how she could smuggle this ice pack home, as she wants a professional one, apparently.

It is now about 2am. I am looking like a zombie - dried mascara down my face and puffy eyes. Mother, however, is as perky as possible. She is sitting next to me on a chair, dressed in a pale blue summer evening gown. It grazes the floor - so I warn her of the possible blood she could pick up on her hem - and she swiftly whisks her layers of silk off the ground, exposing sparkly diamante sandals. In comparison, the other patients are passing in their pyjamas.

I try to fall asleep whilst Mother blabs about the likelihood of ordering a food delivery to A&E. I tell her that Sushi House won't be able to bring salmon roe to the hospital at 2am.

I am woken by Augustus' bellowing voice; 

"Shallot? Hello, I have your results."

We are moved again to the previous room to discuss the results and where to go from here. N.B. I'm fine - the important stuff all came back normal but I now have an appointment to see a rheumatologist.

At 4am, I am FINALLY FREE! At least for tonight. I have to wait in the reception area to collect my documents and reports, which unfortunately exposes both Mother and I to a gory A&E case. A poor Scandinavian man is trying to explain some formal admin stuff, with his hand down his grey tracksuit bottoms. He is barefoot, tall and athletic. There is blood on his tight white shirt and, as he turns around, my eyes fall upon his tracksuit bottoms; covered in blobs of blood around his.... crotch. 4am with no sleep and no food makes for a queasy me anyway. However, Mother takes it upon herself to tell me exactly what happened to this poor man.

According to Mother; 

"he is gay, darling. His boyfriend must have bitten his willy! He looks a bit gay - I think the boyfriend got angry, darling! Or maybe there was a piercing involved between them... I don't know, I wasn't there actually but I'm quite sure it's got something to do with a bitten willy."

Fantastic. I have got a very vivid image that will not go away for a good week. I was quite content with assuming it was an unlucky zipper accident (which caused my brain great grief as it was).

Onwards and upwards, as they say. I shall do some spiritual mind cleansing. Then, try to fix this knee. I'm sure the rheumatologist will wave his wizard wand this week and I'll be back playing beach volleyball asap!  Until then, I'll be here watching Netflix and supervising Mother's cooking from the sofa :)

xoxo

P.S. I realise I frequently contradict myself in regards to the uselessness of males one day and females the next. I really do have a solid theory of what each gender excels at, I promise. It all adds up when they are being observed as professionals in the workplace (and not dopey husbands in crocs on the side of the road).