I’d definitely say the highlight of the weekend was slamming my middle right index finger (mostly the nail part) in the front door this evening. I have never been so thankful for frozen peas and arnica in all my life.
Apart from that spectacular and ultimately regretful piece of malcoordination, Saturday and Sunday have been generally all-round less painful. Multipack turned three this month, and so to celebrate Trev bought a large bag of lovely, crunchy badges with the logo on. I had to leave the meeting early, so missed out on the planned meal, but as usual there was plenty of discussion although once again I proved my ineptitude by forgetting to take any photos, so I can’t prove any of it took place.
The reason for the early departure was another spur-of-the-moment roadtrip; this time Bristol to see James and the new flat. Coincidentally it turned out both Andrew and Paul we’re coming down at the same time, so it ended up as a bit of an unplanned Australian adventure reunion. A few beers in Clifton and some late night Mariocart was definitely a good way to relax, and being probably the last bright weekend we’re going to get this year, I was pleased to get a sunny drive there and back. I managed to completely miss the Grand Prix as Helen and the others indulged in watching an entire three hour X-Factor marathon this morning - a programme which I have discovered is capable of bringing out in me, a Cowell-like vindictiveness and ability to criticise a singer’s choice of song and dress, that until now I wasn’t aware of.
My finger still hurts and I will continue to moan like a hypochondriac child until what I will over-embellish as ‘the horrific bruising’ decides to subside.