Not in a good way - sprained my ankle yesterday, coming out of the gym (ironic, I know). Serious pain, in all senses of the word. So much for living in zone two - no-one would help me. There I was on doubled over in agony on Crickewood Lane, when a woman with a kid in a pushchair went past: "nothing broken?" she asked, without even waiting for my reply.
Eventually, I got a lift home from some kindness-of-strangers woman, and called NHS direct who tried to persuade me I had no feeling in my foot, and that there was something wrong with my nerves. Then they said I should go and sit in casualty. I took some paracetamol, and did cold compresses, and was just generally in a very bad mood. Today, it's more swollen and hurts even more, and a friend who's a doctor took a look at it, and said I should get it x-rayed.
Waiting time at the Royal Free is hours - when I was knocked down a couple of years ago and hit my head pretty hard, I spent about seven hours in casualty there, until my headache got so bad from the MTV and saturday-night-party feeling that I went home, threw up, went to sleep and went to see my GP in the morning. Lived to tell the tale, though.
So I found out that waiting time at Finchley Memorial is only a couple of hours, weekdays only, so I'm going to go there Tuesday morning. Have a big meeting tomorrow about a possible column in a real newspaper that even a third world war wouldn't keep me from.
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