Determined to be buoyant

You will gather, I'm trying resolutely to be cheerful and to look for things to laugh about. It's meant to keep me from fretting, since I have reason to fret just at the moment.

Yesterday afternoon, coming home from Morrisons in Acton (yes, apart from The Geek's birthday bash it was that exciting a weekend), I dumped my bag of shopping in the rack near the driver and was making my way down the bus to find a seat, using the overhead straps for balance. The bus jolted; I lurched and wrenched on the strap, and a sharp pain stabbed through the Mount of Venus on my left hand. The good hand. Or perhaps I should say the "good" hand, since it now isn't very good at all; it hurts like heck and I can't move my thumb properly any more. So I now have two damaged hands and am feeling pretty frustrated and frankly a bit scared.

What happens if whatever it is I've pulled in my left hand gets worse? Because my right hand, twitching about on the end of the rigid rusted-shut hinge that is my right wrist, ain't much use at present.

Managed to sublimate these self-absorbed worries for a while last night by watching "La Belle et la Bête" and marvelling again at what an extraordinary piece of film-making this is. How much Cocteau achieves with such slight means! How weird and wonderful the psychology of the story is, and how rich the black-and-white photography looks! And how marvellously sexy and scary and moving The Beast is. By gum, Jean Marais had presence, even under that make-up job. Perhaps I should say, especially under that make-up job...