Last spring I posted how I had been an absolutely delightful houseguest to my cousin and her husband: getting sick halfway through the visit, commandeering a bathroom and the sofa, and thereby forcing my cousin to wait on me for the remainder of my stay.
Well, the streak continued: my first morning here Viv & I took the dog for a walk through the woods around Charles Darwin’s house (as you do), and I went over on my ankle. It felt okay, so we kept walking and then headed into town to finish up some last minute shopping.
By evening my ankle had swelled up and was throbbing, and I had had to strap it with a tensor bandage (not a term they knew) and sit with it up on a cushion while everyone else made meals, and handed me things, and gave me wine & Ibuprofen (I know, I know, don’t say it). All I could think was: I’m here for several more days, this is a very active family, they have other things going on in their lives at the moment, and how could I be imposing on them like this yet again.
I hobbled off to bed, feeling horribly guilty. But it seems that, all common sense to the contrary, a cocktail of sparkling wine and anti-inflammatories actually works (kids, don’t try this at home). So, while I am still walking carefully when out on the hiking trails, it turns out I am not the burden on my cousins’ hospitality that I had feared (don’t speak too soon, Lainey, the visit is just beginning).