Mrs Morris is my grumpy alter ego. She’s the neighbour who won’t be agreeing to any roof terraces, she has a zero tolerance policy about nonsense and she’s not afraid to voice an opinion. Mrs Morris is a force to be reckoned with indeed!
There’s something about the British Bank Holiday Weekend which causes complete chaos. The thrill of an extra day off work means the masses go crazy, airports are packed and inconsiderate neighbours get up and slam the front door at 4:30am, and with that rude awakening, Mrs Morris was in fine form getting to Heathrow this morning.
I travel frequently and am familiar with the Friday routine. Up and off at 5:30am. Straight through security and then on to the gate. The whole process takes an hour and is very relaxed.
Throw in the Bank Holiday and suddenly there are delays at security as we all stood watching a woman trying to squeeze another nail polish into a small plastic bag for ten minutes. In the end Mrs Morris stepped in and suggested that she throw something away in order to move things along.
Then a delay buying a coffee to be followed by being run over by a woman with a wheelie bag. Not an apology in sight.
Mrs Morris has already complained twice this week about rubbish not being bagged correctly so she’s on a bit of a rampage!
Let’s see how the rest of the morning goes!
Six years ago I went to the Cote d’Azur for the first time, it was June 2012 and I spent a weekend with my future husband. We were both a bit nervous and let’s just say, we may have had a bit too much to drink!
At one point I put a wine glass down on the tiled floor and it shattered, a shard going into my hand and there being quite a lot of blood. Luckily I was too drunk to really notice and shrugged it off.
Time went on, the wound healed but I was left with a puncture mark on the palm of my hand and the nagging sense that there was glass in my hand as it would catch on a nerve from time to time.
Over the past few weeks I noticed swelling a centimetre away from the entry wound. I tried a pin, tweezers, a warm compress and magnesium sulphate on a plaster to try and draw the glass out. I even had a dream about miniature scissors coming out of my hand last night, how weird!
Tonight, after six years, I could finally feel the edge of the glass and very, very carefully with tweezers (as I really didn’t want to break the bugger) I drew the offending piece of glass out of my hand. A 4mm long shard of glass came out cleanly and finally the ordeal was over. Six years later! Did I mention it was SIX years?!
I can’t begin to describe the relief I felt. Apparently glass is really tricky to remove and would have involved surgery. It doesn’t show up easily on x-rays so hurrah for nature!
I am now officially glass free and am celebrating with a glass of… oh!