A Friday Night In Hospital.

So, how was your Friday evening? No! You don’t say?! Really? Wow, you really are off the freaking chain! Me? Well thanks for asking. Well after clamouring through throngs of tourists and local residents in London’s Leicester Square to attend a night of stand-up comedy at the comedy store. The bulk of the risqué jokes concerning disability, racial discrimination and homophobia were all distributed with surprisingly good-natured aplomb, unless your Oscar Pistorius of course. “There were fears he’d get raped in jail? But honestly who would stoop to that level?” being a personal highlight. My girlfriend however decided that more comical physicality was required with a rather slapstick ruse of her own, in the form of a freak step accident (yes “step”, not plural. Meaning one, sneaky, solitary step) which  felled her, resulting in multiple ill-advised laughs, a spilt beverage and a suspected fractured ankle.

Have you ever been cloistered by the custodial inaction of a sanitized white reception room, surrounded by the guttural splutters of an alcoholic seemingly mumbling his death throes, whilst repositioning your butt every 30 seconds in plastic seats so uncomfortable that it would be more congenial for your trouser hams if you had serrated blades piercing your ass! Oh if only every Friday night was as exquisite as this! Securing ample visitations to the lavatory just to temporarily immobilize the fractious tedium of hospital monotony, and the stabilised the intimacy of the disposable patients was all I could do to abate the long wait for a diagnosis. Well in fairness it wasn’t that bad, just incredibly boring, especially considering that I was merely there to dispense comforting words, hugs and arm tickles to my sobbing girlfriend, who at this stage was more aggrieved by the embarrassment of the injury rather than the injury itself. But after extensive analysis by various doctors, chief of whom was particularly cordial and comforting to our blight, finally permitted us to leave at 5am. Having concluded extensive tests and an X-ray, the latter revealing the injury to be only ligament damage, we promptly hobbled back to the car and home to bed. Now much of the domestic duties have transferred to me while my girlfriend, in her highly medicated state reclines on the sofa with her foot aloft an ornate array of scatter cushions, elevated to a position that can reduce the swelling on an egg-shaped deformity that has generated on her foot.

Despite the severity of the pain I’m encouraged by her will and versatility as she already demonstrates signs of improvement, which makes everything all the better. So here in lies my absence from blogging this weekend about some rudimentary gaming grievance. But anyway, must dash. Got to try to figure out how the washing machine works?