...or, Boy you'd better slow that One-hand down.
I'm back in London, back at work, and back on the ibuprofen after the NHS Direct advisor I spoke to yesterday said she thought I may be getting cramp in my incarcerated wrist because I have been "overdoing it" with the finger exercises. >sigh< She suggested I take a day of rest, use my right hand as little as possible (instead of as much as possible, as I have beeen doing) and take plenty of analgesia - rather as I might treat a strained back or a pulled hamstring for 24 hours. And then if that doesn't ease it, to go back to A&E. >>HUGE SIGH<<
I must remind myself that there are some benefits to being temporarily semi-crippled. I am allowed to eat loads of full-fat dairy produce - CALCIUM, YEHAY!! - so bring on the cheese board. Not to mention the yoghurt, the drinking yoghurt, the pouring cream, the ice cream, and the hard sauce.
And a really nice-looking bloke helped me with my suitcase on Sunday. Though by the time I've been eating full-fat dairy produce for another 3 1/2 weeks I doubt if I'll look frail enough to need help... >small sigh<
Christmas was lovely, if a bit weird; I'm usually the main cook in my family, especially at any kind of gathering, so to be banished from the kitchen ("You keep getting in the way...") felt odd, to say the least. The bitingly cold weather made our regular winter walks programme particularly bracing, and reduced the annual Christmas flower count in the garden to a measly 8. And, unusually, I got only two books among my gifts. Rather disappointingly, one of them is weird, but not quite the right kind of weird, at least in my present state. Swedish surrealist/existentialist Sci Fi comedy, anyone? I really wanted to like this, as the poseur-value is incalculable; but it just isn't tickling my funnybones. Not even the bruised one.