Feel like a man...

Yesterday

There I am, laid on my front as my physiotherapist twangs my left Achilles tendon back into shape.

Then she leans over to rub the kinks out of my right shoulder. Not before she pauses for moment:

Physiotherapist: "You have a really big bruise on your right leg."

She exclaims.

Physiotherapist: "How did you do that? It looks painful."

I twist my head around to look at the back of my calf. The bruise looked a little weird, and then my eyes make sense of the shape.

Me: "That's a bite mark."

I reply automatically. More to myself really, but my physiotherapist heard all the same.

She raises her eyebrows and laughs in astonishment.

Physiotherapist: "Animal or human? Or should I not really ask?"

Me: "Human, actually."

Physiotherapist: "Oh!"

For the life of me, I have no recollection of being bit on the leg, although I was very much aware of being bitten on my arse. The left buttock to be precise.

Who'd have thought dancing in a nightclub might be so treacherous?

So this last week has seen me doing the left buttock shuffle to avoid agitating the huge rasp on my arse, complete with teeth indentations and accompanying bruise the size of saucer.

Still, that's what happens when me and my mate Stan have a few to drink and get going with the ladies.

Thinking about it, the woman who bit me wasn't all that bad looking, although she did have that strange, 'bunny boiler' look about her.

Today



My car is nearing the end of her productive life.

Age has taken hold and the automotive equivalent of organ failure seems inevitable.

Yesterday, the clutch cable popped off .. again. So I just managed to lumber home from the motorway -- on my way back from seeing my physiotherapist -- before the whole thing fell to bits entirely.

So this morning, in combat bottoms and vest, I get in there and fixed the thing myself.

I'm usually a total woman when it comes to cars.

I get in, I drive.

If the car stops working, I call someone to get the thing fixed.

So actually fixing my own car really did the trick.

I have a mental list of things to do, so ticking this one off made the day shorten somewhat.

Tonight

Spoilt for choice, really.

Do I go on a leaving do for someone, or do the usual and go around town with my mates?

The former has a much greater woman-to-man ratio, the later maybe not, but have the potential for much more fun.

Hmm .. choices, choices.

Tomorrow

I'm in London with a certain lady friend.

Should be a bit of a giggle...