This weeks excitement! 'Snow and pain killers'

On Monday morning half of England awoke and rubbed it's tired eyes to see a wintery wonderland glittering and glistening away...The snow here was apparently the heaviest in about 18 years. I grew up in Wales were it snows most winters, so can't vouch for this claim, although that statistic doesn't surprise me much. The South coast is a good deal milder than where my parents still reside in South Wales. The other thing that didn't surprise me was the typical British reaction to a few inches of harmless snow. Of course the buses and trains were suspended, airplanes cancelled, schools closed and shops inundated with (i feel slightly naive) hoards of panic ridden shoppers, stocking up on blankets, water, spare toothbrushes...you get the idea. I can't help but be a little embarrassed by the British tendency to behave like startled cattle in this type of situation. Having spent a week in The Franco/Italian Alps last month, as well as sometime in St.Louis (Missouri) and Detroit (Michigan) two weeks ago, it's safe to say that the English are yet to learn how to deal with a bit of snow!! I suppose (and in our favour) because it's such a rarity, we are fundamentally under-equipped to clear it efficiently. We have very few snow plows in Brighton!! And unlike Finland, there are no heated roads and we aren't obliged by law to have a set of snow chains ready to fit to our tyres...Maybe if i keep leaving the fridge door open and using my nasty deodorants the ice caps will melt and we'll all be forced to adapt one day.  That would be kind of fun. 

Anyway God bless silly old Blighty and it's typical predictable and (in an odd, quaint and heartwarming way) pathetic reaction to a few flakes of snow. Lets hope the whole place doesn't fall apart next time the clouds unleash their cargo. 

The Great Spraining

Last night as i ran to catch a bus home after doing some wedding planning with Bex, i landed on some ice and my right foot was twisted in a manner that I had never considered possible. After hobbling onto the bus in agony and eventually making it home with much wailing and gnashing of teeth, i put it on ice and took some pills before getting some sleep. When I awoke this morning, it was exceedingly swollen and turning an intriguing colour, and i am unable to walk on it. Being a stubborn sort of chap, I will only ever visit a doctor or hospital as a last resort. I've spent enough wasted hours sitting in A&E departments, only to be told that "there's nothing wrong" and "the profuse bleeding will subside soon" to have learned that a visit to hospital should be carried out only under the direst of circumstances. 

I have sprained my ankle many times before, often playing rugby, but never has it been quite as painful as this time. Deep within me i knew that I had to make the dreaded visit to the Sussex General, because i was convinced that I had done some fairly substantial damage this time. So, i made the trip (thanks to a kind friend with an automobile) this morning. As suspected, it's worse than your average sprain. It turns out i have torn the main ligament connecting the ankle with the foot. It hasn't snapped entirely, but its badly torn and will require a good bit of rest.  So here i sit, with my foot 'elevated' and with enough pills to tranquilize a pigmy tribe for a week, feeling slightly sorry for myself and in a lot of pain. 

The upside is, i rather enjoy sitting down, and so have a great excuse to indulge in just that, free of the usual guilt and condemnation that comes with sitting down for extended periods of time when you really should be doing other things. 

Every cloud.