Bun

In the office Jack showed us a nasty cut and bruise on his hip. He’d stacked it on his bike because he was cycling without hands after two pints. I said it looked painful, and offered the standard advice that sensible people seem to offer whenever anyone has a bruise.

‘It only hurts when I move in strange ways.’

‘You always move in strange ways. Arnica, that’s what I would do.’

‘No you wouldn’t!’

‘I know, but it’s what you should do.’

Another exchange was with my Spanish colleague Isabel, who has recently acquired British citizenship. We did some moaning about the recent weather, as standard office chat. She said, ‘you were born here. You had no choice.’

Back problems are back, after I thought I’d shaken them off. A painful evening of trying not to move in jerky motions, and laying on the floor.

I like this ‘bun shop’, a 70s transplant on the estate where I’m staying.