Slinging along

I wore my sling on the train.
I took my sling off when I got to Dean Street.
I sat cradling my arm as I sucked through a straw on a big juicy juice.
I didn’t kiss my host, he had the bug.
I hugged his son who was 17 and facing a future that only Richard Branson’s kids can dream off. I liked him a lot.
I cradled my arm as I sipped hot water with lemon and ginger.
I put my sling back on as I walked in the sunshine to Charing Cross.
I love London in the spring, to be honest I love London in all the seasons. I just love the crowds, the buzz, the smiles, the smells. I am, after all, a born and bred Cockerny.
I bought ‘H IS FOR HAWK’ and fannied around trying to get my card into the machine. I’ve only broken one bone in my elbow but my brain has turned into soft bucatini.
I took my sling off to drink my vegetable soup.
Put it back on as I read. Cradled my fractured radius as I snoozed my way home.
Jim collected. I took my sling off.
Went across the road to the farm shop bought apples, potatoes and more apples.
Sat at the table in the kitchen and ate almonds.
I’ve just climbed out of the bath – gingerly – and tonight I will watch the new series of NURSE with Paul Whitehouse, and LENNIE JAME’S new Sky 1 thingy.
‘H’ is a brilliantly written book, poetic, visual, sad and real.
Jim’s warming my home made green soup and popping in cauliflower. I can’t face any kind of chopping or cooking. My husband is extremely good and patient. I’m learning to take his generosity.
Tomorrow I’m researching this thing I’m doing at the end of the week, when I’m clearer about it I’ll write about it.
I do love having my fingers back.
TTFN