Having reported yesterday that nothing funny had happened for ages, I have to tell you that my memory had let me down. On Monday evening after a frustrating time trying to get to grips with a plastered foot and crutches, and having struggled upstairs on my bottom and crawled into the bedroom because I couldn’t stand up without putting the damned foot on the floor, I finally managed to sit on the edge of the bed to start the unbelievably tedious process of undressing.
It was at this point that I realised my trouser leg was too narrow to go over my plaster and the trousers would need to be cut off. This didn’t matter as I’d already taken the knee out of them in my fall. The problem was that I didn’t have any scissors. What I did have was my phone, so I sent a text to Whizz, who was downstairs in the office, oblivious to all my troubles: Do you think you could come and shut the curtains and help me cut off my trousers please?
I waited a while then began to get irritated so grabbed the phone again with the idea of ringing him and telling him to get a move on.
I expect you’ve guessed by now. Yes, this was the moment when I discovered I’d sent the message to a teacher at school. I hurriedly dashed off an explanation and sent another message to Whizz.
Whizz giggled all evening and the teacher hehe’d me a message the following morning.
I need smaller fingers, or a bigger phone.