Traumatic Tripping

Hello my lovelies!

I have incorporated a little pun into my title this week. I went on a little jaunt to London (a trip if you will) and also I fell over. Yes, I tripped.

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I went to London with my mum and I had a fabulous time.

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We ate at Camden Market, we went round the British Museum, we went to Piccadilly Circus and we left not even a thimble of beer in that city.

But, those of you with protective mothers will understand what mums can be like when bringing their baby to a big scary capital city. Even if that baby is 23 years old.

She was on high alert, which meant I was on high alert. Keeping an eye on my handbag, my phone, locking my cases even when we were just leaving them at the hotel.

If there was a murderer or thief that we passed I’m guessing they saw the crazed look in my mum’s eye and just decided not to bother us.

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Someway, somehow we managed to make it out of London without being robbed or murdered.

But then having not been back in Edinburgh for five minutes I managed to injure myself. Literally as I was climbing the stairs to leave the train platform I fell.

I didn’t just trip a little. I didn’t slip or topple or tumble. I full on bloody fell. Flat on my face.

I’m pretty sure there’s a dent in that station floor in the shape of my knees.

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A lovely gentleman carried my bags up the steps while another steered me up by the arm. Yep. Fell that hard.

In my embarrassment I didn’t really notice any injuries but I am quite literally covered in bruises, including an extremely impressive one on my thigh which is the width of my leg and mottled a brilliant burgundy.

So next time anyone has any advice on staying safe, just keep it to yourselves. It’ll be of little use since I’ll end up on a dirty train station floor anyway.

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Happy National Frankenstein Day! Remember, even though Mel Brooks made a hilarious film about it, reanimating a corpse isn’t the best Thursday night activity. That’s more of a Friday night thing.

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