Not a dead rose...

... which was all I had lined up to blip today. Instead a quick snap of #1 daughter enjoying a cuppa in M&S with me, after kindly taking me to the retail park to collect a prescription for meds I'd alarmingly run out of (and without which I'd turn into an axe-wielding gibbering maniac, albeit a crippled one), and also to look for some sort of sandals to wear if I'm allowed to try weight-bearing exercise after my x-ray next Wednesday. None of my shoes will fit on the damaged side, and if I go out I hide the blotchy swollen and scarred limb with a large overstretched man's sock (not a sock belonging to a large overstretched man, although that would probably fit too). Wanting to appear a bit more normal, I looked for something wide and loose enough to fit Porky, the pet name that has been given to my left leg on the grounds that it resembles a fat seal pup, though without the large soulful eyes and cute whiskers. After much searching I got some extra-wide sandals from the fat-lady shop, which I couldn't try walking in of course, but did seem to fit.

It was great to get out, the best tonic I can have just now it seems, and I'm easily pleased, being happy to go absolutely anywhere. #1D has just got home from a week-long hen party in Ibiza (hence the tan) and rang to ask if I'd like to go out somewhere; I yelled YES! and was down the stairs on my bum in less than a minute, a personal best. Thanks Amy, you're a life-saver.