Hop-in clinic

Last night I landed clumsily after doing a jump-kick in taekwondo, and sprained my ankle. It didn't hurt too much at the time, and I walked home with only the odd self-emasculating gasp or wheeze of pain. This morning, however, I couldn't put any weight on it, couldn't move it. According to Andy, I screamed like a woman whilst I was in the shower. I can't remember that myself, only a manly silence as I stoicly bore the pain.

So I went to the Concrete Kingdom's walk-in clinic[1] to have it looked at. They prodded my ankle and prescribed me ibuprofen and paracetemol. They don't think I broke any of the bones, but the only way to really tell is to go up to the GWH to have it X-rayed. Which, I've been told, I'm to do if the drugs don't work[2].

So, I've won an unplanned day off work. Unforunately because of the fact I have to elevate the ankle, it's involved little more than sitting on the sofa and reading Shaman's Crossing.

I can think of worse ways to spend a day.

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[1] And isn't that a cheery little place? I'm just thankful that it wasn't busy. When I was teasing Jen about her visits to the clinic, she stated that it was always rammed full of ill and old people.
[2] I was also told to register with a doctor. 'You've been here for three and a quarter years now, you really should get around to it.' Strange how the nurse echoed my Stepmother's recent direction of nagging.