I've been to Cornwall for a few days. 'Cornwall?' I hear you cry, 'why, how lovely!' And yes, you are right, it was lovely. I stayed in beautiful Polperro and the weather was glorious. However, the visit started and ended on a low note.
Firstly I forgot my camera. I was in Big Trouble with the other half for that. As I have no photos I shall paint a picture with words. To fully appreciate the following poetic masterpiece you need to know that the Cornish town Fowey is pronounced 'Foy' (to rhyme with boy). Now without further ado
Ode to Cornwall
Fowey is a joy
made me mellow.
But Looe was poo,
and St Austell?
I'd rather be in Borstal.
Truly, my talents know no bounds.
After a lovely stay, just before I was about to come back to Shrewsbury, I fell over. I hurt my wrist. A lot. As I hit the ground I used the sort of language that would make a salty old Cornish seadog blush. And quite rightly too as it turns out. My wrist hurt more and more and looked stranger and stranger during the course of the five hour trip home.
Once back in Shrewsbury I headed for the hospital where, after a fair amount of waiting about, I was told I had a broken wrist and was walloped in plaster. After a follow-up trip to the hospital today, I was given the dismal news that I need surgery and will be having a steel plate put in later this week. The 'silver lining' (of sorts) is that I will still be able to have chemo, as planned, next week. My cup runneth over.
So now, while you are all feeling sorry for me, I urge you to rush off to read my brand new blog post for Vita Oline, a breast cancer magazine. Click here to make an old lady slightly less grumpy.