Ok, so maybe you can't learn everything from Google. My taped ankle is working to the extent that it's letting me hobble up and down my street as fast as I can limp. I married the techniques of two expert opinions and then ran out of tape. However, I am a little nervous about the fact that there's a growing coldness in my foot that could be attributed to the following things:
a) The 8 degree weather
b) The fact that I'm favouring one ankle thereby keeping it quite still
c) The tape's done up too tight because you can't really discern degrees of pressure from a youtube video
Maybe that's why I think the tape's working - I can't actually feel the sprained ankle. Might have to go home and Google this one also.
I also dropped my pen on the tube. A lame ankle doesn't quite generate a rush of guilty looking people standing up to give you a seat, so I'm perched on one of those strange blue rests at the end of the carriage that are fixed a strangely dispropotionate height - if you're tall enough to comfortably place your posterior on the cushion, you could also brace the back of your skull on the roof. Tim Burton must've drawn up the ergonomic tables for these trains.
Anyway, dropping your pen on the tube usually illicits two responses. The germophobe in me took the first and was ready to write off that now unusable and highly contaminated instrument (it was free anyway, I stole it from my career centre). The second was the very nice man standing next to me who IMMEDIATELY swooped down to pick it up and return it with a smile. The action shocked me to my core so I threw my best fox-in-headlights impression back at him before remembering to grab at the shreds of my manners, accept the proffered pen, and mumble a thank you, all the while fighting the germophobic cringe. Take two lessons from this: London is actually not a cold place and gallantry is not dead.
1 comment:
lol
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