As you may recall, I had a trip back to England planned to coincide with my birthday and that of my best friend back there, Sarah. It was AWESOME!
Prior to my going, my Uncle called me and asked whether I'd like to go to Spain for a couple of days "while I was out that way anyway" so of course I accepted. Wouldn't you? I had a strict schedule to stick to, seeing friends and family etc., and I pretty much was able to stick to it. Things haven't changed much though which is good and bad!
Anyhoo...........
Spain was great. My Uncle and I were staying in a hostel and I have to say that while I was pretty much expecting a rat infested, nasty, one bathroom in the hallway for the building, kind of place I was pretty much surprised with a lovely room, en-suite bathroom and daily maid service! All for $30 a night for the both of us! Fantastic. It was also great because my Uncle and I were there on our own and were able to talk about anything and everything. We talked about family, our lives, whether we were happy or not, and about the past which included him regaling me with stories of his days when he played professional rugby for Hull back in the day. Stories of how he was nightclubbing every night and how......... oh wait. You don't need to hear all those stories!!! LOL Most of the nights ended with us completely drunk, staggering home.
aaaaahhhhhh the memories!
Then it was back to England and the first port of call was Filey. My old friend from waaaaaaay back lives there, so after a long drive from Liverpool airport, dropping my Uncle off then a quick drive to Filey, I found myself getting completely hammered in a bar there.
Hammered, shitfaced, minging, blind sticking drunk. Either way you look at it, we were both looking dog rough the next morning when she had me shopping in Scarborough and then up to Scarborough Castle with nothing but a cheese and onion pastie in ma belly!
After a long day there, it was time to drive back to Leeds to stay at my friend Sarahs. It was actually her birthday that day so we exchanged gifts, got drunk and enjoyed friends. It was an emotional night wherein I cried at one point and was blubbering on the phone to George about how I wanted to come home and I was sick of everything.......... long story that was quickly resolved!
The next day, again, completely hung-the-shit-over, we returned the rental car I had hired ($200 for a week not bad!) and went shopping. We had to rush home as we were going out at 3 to meet up with another friend - the one who had me crying the night before! I KNOW!
Now, this is where I start to show my age. When Sarah told me we were going out at 3, I was all "Who goes out at 3 in the afternoon?" We did! Actually, we went at 4 but not until we had already downed a bottle of wine each!
Here, I must point out is where the first part of the title comes into play. Demon. When I left England almost 9 years ago, I also left a relationship that had been tumultuous (like that?) at the very best...... I hadn't heard of or seen that guy for a long time and when I heard he was back in town, the very thought of meeting him again made me sick. Literally physically sick. I am not really sure why. I mean, I wasn't expecting anything to happen but I think because of the way we ended things, I was just nervous. I built myself up into such a state that getting completely drunk was the only way I could come close to being ready to face him. He had told everyone he wasn't going to be out and that he was going to a concert which apparently was a lie because the minute we walked into the nightclub, there he was. After a quick nod, a quick "You alright?" and pleasantries, we were back to being indifferent strangers. We spoke a couple of times throughout the night and that was it. Then I got angry with myself for letting things build up to the point they had and getting myself all upset over nothing. But it's all over and done with now so that's good.
Then at some point, I was dancing with my friend John and someone accidentally - I assume - knocked into me and I twisted my ankle. Of course the first thing people ask is "Were you drunk?" and of course, I was ball-bagged, but luckily, because you don't feel as much pain then!!!! I knew I had done something but thought nothing more of it. We got home at about 3:30 am and I fell quite literally into bed. I woke up at 9-ish the next morning and KNEW my ankle hurt but it wasn't until I tried to move it and almost passed out that I thought "FFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKK!!!" I had my friends husband take me to the Emergency Room wherein I cried almost all the way there, which is where the second part of the title comes into play.
Doctors. As I mentioned earlier, I have lived here in the States for almost 9 years and have grown quite accustomed to the medical system. I love it. Dr's introduce themselves, take care of you and all that. At the UK ER, the Dr - I assume he was a Dr as he didn't introduce himself, he looked more like a janitor!!! - simply touched the back of my ankle and asked if it hurt there. It didn't so he said "Well, it's just a sprain, I'm not X-raying it" and gave me some paracetomol which is the equivalent of Aceteminophen, and sent me on my way with a pair of ill-fitting crutches.
I cried some more and he then became an obnoxious twat and said in a very condescending tone "Well, if you would let me EDUCATE you...." and proceeded to Google - YES, BLOODY GOOGLE ankle pain!
I knew I had done something to my ankle so just took more pain killers at Sarah's, had her husband call Continental to sort out wheelchair access for me and just cried more.
Bloody English Dr's.
I finally got home the next day and went immediately to my own Orthopedic Dr who promptly, yes PROMPTLY X-rayed it, diagnosed me with a Lisfranc fracture and gave me shitloads of strong medication to help me get over it. Now that is what I call service! D-aaaaaah-rvocet! :)
So there you have it. Overall an excellent trip, even with the ex-boyfriend, hangovers and fractures. I do like to make the most of those visits!
So what did you do the last month?
