A few weeks ago I fell up the escalator at Bond Street. Not unusual in itself as I do this quite a lot, but this time I hurt myself quite a lot as can be seen from the picture (though this was before the bruising came up). I also twisted my ankle (which has never been the same since the infamous ligament tearing incident at university which put me out of action for weeks—I wasn't doing sport or anything, I was changing a CD whilst somewhat inebriated). So, my pins look like a small boy's legs at the moment i.e. covered in scabs and bruises. Then this morning, just as they're starting to heal up and look a bit better, I stacked it on the way to the tube station. Literally just fell over my own feet. Highly embarassing, especially as two guys walked past and laughed in my face as I was picking myself up—thanks for that*. Anyway, I've ripped my favourite skinny jeans and cut my knee so am back to small boy leg status again. Thank god it's winter so I don't have them on display. Then, I'm standing on the tube feeling very sorry for myself (and maybe trying not to cry a little bit) when the guy next to me opens his can of lager (yes LAGER at 7.45 in the morning) which sprays all over me. I arrived at work with a cut knee and stinking of booze. Here's hoping no one thinks it was my lager and organises an intervention.*Do me a por favor—if you happen to see me falling over in the street, please don't laugh. I don't require picking up or dusting down or anything like that, but no laughter would be an added bonus. Ta.