This weekend went a little differently to normal. The highlight of my Saturday was purchasing the very first vacuum cleaner I've ever bought myself - a Henry Hoover. One of the most grown-up purchases I've ever made, and I insisted that I needed it to have a face on it. Henry and I are getting along famously. He's nothing short of fricking awesome with his majestic, impressively sucky nose. I have hoovered the house twice in as many days, which is more times than I did aaaall last month! Maybe everything I dislike doing should have a big ole smiley face on it to up the novelty factor and make me do it. Can you put a smiley face on mornings?
Today, after vacuuming the house for the second time and settling myself down in front of the Xbox to gleefully sap all the productivity from my day off like sucking poising from a snake bite, I received a text from A. He needed a lift to A&E after training for his football (soccer) coaching course had gone a bit tits up for him. A tackle had left him unable to walk on one of his feet.
Got to the hospital where A was urged to bounce like a human pogo stick to the doctor's room to be prodded, poked, x rayed and sodomised (I don't know what they do in those rooms. Just hazarding a guess).
I'm fortunate in that I've rarely had to sit in the accident and emergency section of a hospital. And so on the rare occasions when I do have to go, I fully expect to be met with a gory scene of spraying blood and bawling adults rolling around on the floor in agony as their limbs dangle from their bodies, held on only by thin strips of flesh...Like a hammed up world war movie scene. Not so. Just a group of well behaved people politely obeying the unspoken, unwritten waiting room rule of "Thou shalt not speak....but though shalt quietly cough from time to time to prove that there is actually something wrong with you and that you deserve to be seen next".
I was in that waiting room for a good hour or so (quite speedy compared to the usual bellyaching you hear about the NHS....Politics, motherbadger! Go team NHS!) on my tod, and here is what I saw:
- Woman on crutches wearing a Superman hoody. Unsure if the hoody was intentionally ironic. Made me smile either way.
- Small child of unknown diagnosis (she had a bit of a puffy eye...allergic reaction?)torturing her littler brother by shouting "Iiiii'm infecteeeed!!" and running after him as he frantically tried to flee her diseased clutches.
- Teenager proudly showing off what looked like a large dog bite to a modest crowd of "oooh"ing people.
- Other teenage girl of a curvier stature in bum flashing denim hotpants and those fake-suspenders-type tights making the gaggle of pensioners present gasp and giggle like toddlers watching You've Been Framed (british clip show mostly featuring people falling over and accidentally flashing their pants - popular before we found Youtube and cat videos). "You can see her bottom, Doris!"
A eventually called me over to the waiting room he'd been wheeled to, and I got to see the INSIDE OF HIS FOOT WHERE ALL THE BONES ARE! I haven't seen many x-rays in my time either... and, and, I got to watch them put the plaster on his foot! Nurse practitioner declared that there is a little knobble on the x-ray that looks unusual and "a bit fluffy" (direct quote) and that we'll have to go back in and get it checked on again tomorrow to see if it's actually broken.
Next on the agenda for our Sunday adventure fun times was to rescue A's Volkswagen Golf from the leisure centre car park it was sitting abandoned in. As the only one of us with two functioning ankles, I had to drive A's car. To give you a background of my driving experience, it took me a year after passing my test to stop squealing like a pig whenever I hit a bump in the road, and every car I have owned was and is the power equivalent of a hair dryer...and not even a fancy, expensive hair dryer. In cars, instead of horse power, I opt for donkey power.
Ass power, if you will.
Compared with my car, A's Golf has the power of an army of asses, and I never want to drive it again, as I may inadvertently kill someone else or myself. You might have noticed that I have included less swear words in this post than normal...this is because in a fifteen minute drive, I've used up an entire week's quota of F-bombs and S...grenades (..?). A girl racer I will never be.
Anyhoo, home now, along with A and his fluffy foot. Any footballers out there, take heed - tackle correctly, or risk being the reason someone loses their footballing career to foot fluff. No one wants to be that guy.
*solemn head shake*
Here's a photo of the injured bit of the patient's anatomy. Please leave messages of sympathy, well-wishing or condolences for A's foot in the comments box below (please do! The attention might distract him for a moment so that I don't have to pick things up for him for a while. I'm trying to play on Tumblr. Cheers!)
Hope your weekend was smashing, darlings!