Ugh, my legs are still killing me. Who knows when I'll walk again (well - when I'll not look like I have a stick up my arse when I'm hobbling along - and when I'll be able to go down stairs without holding on to the rail for dear life).
Anyway, the good news this morning was that I didn't need to climb any stairs, because I got a cab to work. Coo - don't I sound decadent - well work paid - I had to bring back a load of stuff from a work thing I was at late last night. The damn cab driver sent me a text to say he was outside the house, so I clambered out with all my boxes and bags of stuff, to find it pouring and the cab nowhere to be seen.
After several minutes of standing under a tree, hoping (and failing) to keep dry, I had to call the cab driver to find out where he was. Sitting in the carpark outside the flat, he said - there is no carpark outside our block of flats. But several minutes later all was good - I was in the cab, out of the rain, on my way to work.
Except (surprise), all was not good. Because my cab driver spent a large part of the journey farting. Not loudly - but smellily. And there were traffic jams. A lot of them. Ought you pay for a journey like that?
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