My recent holiday escapades have stirred me into writing a poem:
I fell down a hole in Nantucket.
Yes, dear readers, as is all too often the case with me, I fell over in the street.
Not through drink, drugs, snow and ice or pools of oil. No, I was walking across a road, having just moments earlier disembarked from the high-speed ferry to Nantucket, put my foot in a hole and went down like a ton of bricks.
I think I managed to make contact with the Tarmac with every single possible body part except my face. Apparently there was a yelp, then the sound of a large woman hitting the ground. My swearing was done quietly, as I have been very aware how little bad language there is on the streets around here.
I sat there briefly, registering the fact that I was now on the middle of the pedestrian crossing, a crowd of concerned bystanders and a queue of interested traffic all looking at me. The next thing I registered was how much my ankle hurt. Oh yes indeedy.
Mr WithaY and a very kind young community officer bloke helped me up, and I hopped into a nearby cafe to inspect the damage.
Ankle, sprained, 1
Elbow, skinned and bleeding, 1
Knee, skinned and bruised, 2
Hand, grazed and studded with gravel, 2
Dignity missing, presumed dead.
My arch enemy Doctor Gravity had struck once more. He's always one step ahead, curse him.
The people in the cafe were lovely - The Easy Street Cafe I think it was, go and buy breakfast from them if you get the opportunity - and I sat with ice on my ankle and a sweet coffee for a little while, sniffling piteously. Once I felt better we continued on to look at the whaling museum.
As it was still closed (we'd caught the early ferry) Mr WithaY went and found a chemist and bought me some special sticks-to-itself strapping for my ankle, and a plaster for my elbow so I was able to hobble about more easy. Then we went to look round the museum.
We were in there for well over 2 hours. It was fascinating. They have several films and presentations you can sit and watch, which we did, as well as all the stuff in cases. Oh, and a sperm whale skeleton that they took from an unfortunate whale that washed up onto the island dead a few years ago. The people who'd been involved in disassembling the dead whale talked about what a long, slow, smelly, filthy process it was, which gave an extra perspective to the whaling exhibits. It must have been appalling on board those ships.
After the museum we found a place to eat lunch, then I found a friendly coffee shop to park myself. Mr WithaY and our mate went for a walk and climbed up to the top of one of the church towers to admire the view. I sat with my bandaged foot up and read the paper and had an iced latte.
A little later on, we caught a bus across the island to Sconset (sp?) where I sat and minded the bags while Mr WithaY and our lovely hostess went for a short stroll to look at the cottages. A sea fog was rolling in, making everything look eerie, which I liked very much.
Yesterday was mostly spent sitting grumpily on the sofa with my foot up, watching tv and whining how much everything hurt.
The sticks-to-itself bandage strapping stuff, it turns out, also sticks to your skin. I peeled it off and then had a few hours of exquisite pain where I had to keep cold wet cloths wrapped around my foot to try and alleviate the burning feeling that the bandage had caused. Oh how I laughed.
Today, I am more cheerful. We have a cunning plan.
There is a craft fair on the common which we are going to go and look around, but first our lovely hostess is going across the street to see if we can borrow a walking stick from the assisted living place. If they say no, I will just have to limp and grumble. If they say yes, I will get to limp, grumble and poke things with a stick.
Despite the clumsy and entirely predictable fall/sprain/whining scenario, I am still having a lovely holiday. Tomorrow's our last day on the Cape before we head back up to Boston, and then back to the UK on Wednesday.
I hope the vegetables in the garden are all still alive.