I wrote last night about nursing what feels like a broken leg.
The incident happened during a dance listening to "new york, new york".
You know the dance, you kick your legs from side to side.
And Im in the middle of a group of 20 wedding revellers.
A drop or two of champagne is in the mix, Im not going to deny I was giddy but I wasnt wasted.
Legs kick higher and higher.
Knickers and thighs were on show - it was quite the scene. But at least all the legs were tanned and shaved!
Except my little legs dont kick as high as my cousins son and his gigantic, atheletic leg crashes down on me.
Oooooooooo - that hurt I as I sat out the last of the night... still sipping champagne and having so much fun watching everyone party like there was no tomorrow.
The joke of the night was me complaining to everyone that I had broken my leg even though I was hobbling on it with party excitement. I even mentioned to our Kay that I had broken it in 73 places and it didn't stop me having a 2am swim in the sea in my under crackers. It was at this point that our Kay (my Mums cousins daughter) was frightened that she was going to get eaten by a shark. I mean - come on, this is the Mediterranean - its the most dirtiest water in the world (having only the Gibraltar straits to flush out the yack, which is a small inlet when you look at the bigger picture). No sharks are going to want to venture here! And besides, she is so skinny that she wouldn't even compare to a twiglet or even a canape. My sister said that the liklihood of being eaten by a shark would revert to her as she compared herself to a suet pudding and custard to which I quipped that if she was that then I must be an all you can eat buffet. I laughed so hard I thought I might die from it. And still my leg was throbbing like bloody mad, if I am honest and throughout the night I was petrified to move it as actively as normal.
To cut a long story short I went to the doctors this morning for some pain killers as I am working this weekend. Flying horses are NOT going to stop me going to the first Luxurious Angels scrapping retreat in England. I need a little something to get me through this. So the Doctor examines my leg which looks like raw meat right now. And the little sod only went and touched the centre of the bruising and I shot off my chair and yelped like a dog.
The result lies in a trip to A&E with Roz (the most brilliantest bundle of energy I know) with a suspected hairline fracture.
The joy of this adventure is immense as it gets me out of washing my holiday clothes for the afternoon. So Im off to go and pack a picnic, I could be in for the long haul as A&E in Wigan can take up to 10 hours. Will someone tape Corrie for me?