I like Thursdays. In my head Thursday is my day off, my play day, the day I meet my friends, go for lunch, go to church or just generally chill out. It’s a good day. For the last umpteen years it’s always got off to a good start with our 8.30 a.m. dance lesson and from there on just got better as the day wore on.
Now, of course we have a dog. A dog that we didn’t have when dance teacher became ill, neither at that time did I attend a 9.30 meeting on a Thursday. In the months he’s been off work, things have moved on somewhat. That’s not to say we aren’t thrilled to have him back.
So, back to Thursday mornings:
So now the day starts by feeding and walking the dog. It’s fair to say he gets a bit short changed in the walk department on a Thursday morning. It’s more of a Woodbine walk, take him out for a quick drag.
That’s followed by a half hour mad dash to the next town for our dance lesson which finishes at 9.30. Then it’s another mad ‘try to fit a half hour journey into 20 minutes’ dash back to our town to pick up bezzie mate and get to Weight Watchers before 10.a.m when they stop weighing. By 10.30 my head is spinning and I feel like I’ve done a days work. See, you can actually have too much of a good thing.
Time for some changes, I think. Dance lessons have now been moved to Friday evenings. Good start to the weekend.
So there I was, having got the morning out of the way. I’d been home to take the dog on a proper walk but didn’t get to because I had to wait for the plumber ( another story). The poor dog had to make do with another another Woodbine walk. The plumber came and went and I thought I stood a good chance of actually making to my zumba class for the first time in weeks and then to church with bezzie mate at 3pm. Douggie the doggie was spending the afternoon in the office with Boofuls and Lashes.
There I was, driving down to the office with Douggie the doggie safely in the back of the car when a stupid white van man drove at speed through a gap that clearly wasn’t large enough to accommodate a large van. The result was a huge BANG as he took my wing mirror off.
Said wing mirror flew into the open window of my car, showering me with glass and plastic and smashing into my finger. I spent half the afternoon at A & E with Winklepop (thanks, Winklepop) having shards of glass scrubbed from the resulting wound. All I can say about that is, OW!
My finger is purple, swollen and immobile, at least I’m not working this weekend, a photographer who can’t use her hand is as much use as a chocolate teapot.
White van man didn’t even stop. I was left shaking and crying covered in blood and glass. Douggie the doggie never made a sound, he just sat looking at me, obviously as shocked as I was. Thank God he was in the back of the car and not the front or he would have been injured as well. As it is the poor little mite is scared of the car now. I could kill that stupid driver!!!
While I was waiting at the hospital to be seen, I decided to have a quick look to see if there was a nearby geocache. There was! And – it was only 68 metres from where I was sat in the A & E waiting room! I worked out that it was just across from the helipad. Winklepop wouldn’t let me go and find it. Tsk. Spoilsport!