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