...or, how I managed to do something bl**dy stupid straight after getting back from my holiday.
Last Tuesday morning, running late for work & feeling post-vacation-lazy, I sprinted for a bus, caught my foot in an uneven paving slab on the Chiswick High Road, and went flying; bang, flat on my face. Masses of bruises, and what turned out to be a badly broken right wrist. I could unfold a tale - but typing left-handed is so tricky that I won't bother. The details are pretty dismal, anyway, so you aren't missing much.
It's an impact fracture, so the break is distal rather than transverse, and the x-ray showed I had a chunk of my right radius completely detached. It was clearly unstable, so on Saturday I went into Charing Cross Hospital to have a nerve block (ugh, never again) and have a metal plate and two screws put into my wrist. I'll never get through airport security unquestioned again.
I'm now stuck in plaster and a sling, and doped up to the eyes on codeine. I refuse to let this spoil Christmas, but it will certainly slow Christmas down a bit, and I have had to drop out of the Kew staff choir, which is a pity. In about six weeks I get my arm and hand back, and by then of course I'll need some physiotherapy; by the time I go to the Bartok "Concerto for Orchestra" in early February I may be able to applaud again...