Things seemed to go really well last night. Just a huge blister (and I mean huge) on the ball of my right foot and a dislocated shoulder (ok slight exaggeration). All the same I bin my planned light jog to work and get the bus instead. I hobble in to work and limp up the stairs. I can just about manage to lift my coffee cup with my bad shoulder. So well worth it.
L reckons I may need to contact my physio. Pah! Mere flesh wounds.
Bee Update. It doesn’t sound good at L’s work place, in fact it sounds a bit like the Somme. Apparently there are little striped bodies everywhere. She reckons she’s sealed all the skirting boards with parcel tape but having to have the windows closed isn’t doing much to keep the room cool in this weather we’re having. I hate to be negative but if the Bee man is a typical tradesman, he’ll probably turn up, have a quick look around, say they didn't tell him it was a bee problem and vow to return tomorrow with the correct tools. He certainly won’t stick around long, there’s a match on this afternoon you know.
Ah yes the match. L escapes the Somme and goes to watch it in Scruffy’s with Son. I’m jealous. Though somehow she manages to get through it without a bottle of wine in her hand. Hope Son has his revision with him, he has an exam first thing tomorrow. I shall listen to it on the radio because I have a feeling the internet will grind to a halt as everybody and his dog will be attempting to watch it online.
England take the lead just like they did that against the USA but this time the final outcome is more favourable. 1-0 win. Slaughtered them. Bring on the Germans.
Bee Update. They are not masonry bees, the bees turn out to be wasps. That first bee inspector wasn’t very good then was he.
In the evening I’m out in Derby with a friend, on the premise that alcohol heals all wounds. The shoulder soon feels better but best to have another pint. It’ll help the healing process. Prevention is better than cure.