Calamity Bok

This is what I actually logged on to post, but was sidetracked by "ouch, charlie". Which is ten times funnier than this post will be, no doubt, but I can cope.

Theres a lyric in KT Tunstall's song "Suddenly I See". It goes "her face is a map of the world, is a map of the world". Well, my legs are a map of boofus, a map of boofus. There are purple and yellow bruises blooming across my knees, peppered with a few tiny bits of gravel. There is another smear of brusing on one of my shins, and in the middle of that bruise, there is a dark red dot- a puncture wound, not to be dramatic or anything.

The bruised knees came about on Wednesday. I left work and was running for a bus. I decided to change course and dart diagonally across the road to catch it. Unfortunately I miscalculated the angle of the swerve I needed to make, and should have realised that a) running and b) swerving were ill-advised in four-inch stack heels. My right foot tipped to the side and I managed to style it out, just about. But then came the aftershock, which sent me flying faceforwards onto the road. There was no styling that out, as my outstretched hands drove through the mud and my knees crunched onto the tarmac. Life became slow motion as I lifted my cheek from the wet ground to see cars approaching me to the front, and to the left, a man walking past staring at me with a look of total disgust on his face, as if I were a whacked-out crack whore who couldn't quite make it to the pavement before lying face-down, in office clothes, you stupid man, in a drugs-induced haze.

A little while later I made my way somewhat shakily into the restaurant where G and I were planning to eat dinner. I went to the toilets to scrape off some of the mud that was ground into my skin/nails/clothes/new handbag. Whilst there, it was only sensible to, um, pay a visit. Imagine my shock when, fresh from my road-tumbling horror, I discovered too late that the toilet seat was not screwed on at all. No sooner had I perched atop it but it was flying off the toilet and clattering to the floor, almost taking me with it and leaving me thankful that visiting the WC is usually a private affair so no styling out was required. We left without ordering.

The puncture wound/bruise combo was inflicted last night. I was enjoying a pint of Coke and my first ever game of darts in the pub (beginner's luck, or finally a sport I can actually play? I've no idea, but I got a bullseye). You can see where this is going, no? Clearly our friend Tony is not quite such a whizz with "the arrows" as he believes himself to be. During one throw, not only did he fail to score, but managed to bounce the dart off the board, from where it flew through the air and sunk into my leg. This was quite amusing, until I looked down a minute later and saw a perfect trickle of blood running down the black leather of my boot. It looked like a rock album cover, but resulted in me spending Saturday morning in an NHS walk-in centre, wondering if it would have been polite to shave my legs before finding out if my leg was about to explode.

I'm happy to report that the leg is still in tact, I have not been struck down with tetanus, the sun is shining, and I plan very much not to injure myself further before the week is out.