So when we moved house in 2022 we moved about 70 miles from where we did live, where we’d both grown up and where our families were. Where we moved to is a little market town called Westbury in Wiltshire, a nice sleepy little place whose idea of “traffic” is more than 3 cars on the road at any one time. A far cry from what we were used to where rush hour started at 3pm when the bastard schools kicked out and lasted til 7pm. Absolute bloody murder!!

Anyway, we already had friends here that we knew from motocross. And when it was confirmed we were moving here all manner of plans were banded about for summer BBQ’s and meals out. Once settled and the absolutely hideous heat wave of July-August 2022 was out the way a table was booked at a local Indian restaurant – hopefully the start of a beautiful takeaway relationship too with a bit of luck!

So we met at a swanky wine bar, a nice contemporary place with disgustingly overpriced wines in overly fancy glasses. I had one glass of red, a long way off the pre-drinks I used to partake in before I needed “aids” to walk around. Don’t get me wrong, I love my custom walking sticks, my sister won them in a competition by Cool Crutches and they have pics of my beautiful fur babies on them but let’s be honest, I’d drop them quicker then a whore drops her knickers for a score if I could. Anyway, I digress, we headed next door for the much anticipated meal only to be greeted by the greasiest floor I’ve ever experienced. It was as if they’d wrung out the hair of a thousand unwashed teenagers and smeared it all over for good measure. And when you rely on sticks this is a veritable nightmare. I made it to the table and sat down thank fuck and we enjoyed a lovely meal with our friends, remaining sensible (read: BORING) about my alcohol intake. And then it happened. I needed to visit the little girls room. Announcing this to the husband I proceeded to stand up, collect my sticks and set off on a journey of no more than maybe 12 steps. I didn’t even manage one 🤦🏻‍♀️ sticks landed on the greasy floor, went flying out from under me and I ended up flat as a fucking pancake on the disgusting laminate with an almighty THUD! The very full restaurant was suddenly plunged into deathly silence while I laid there, praying that the ground would open up and swallow me whole. My husband dutifully picked me up as only he knows how and settled me back on my chair. The manager of the restaurant came over and was very panicked by the whole situation and then kindly offered me the help of his wife to get me to the ladies room. I kid you not this tiny waif of a woman, who spoke not a word of English, came to “help” me. Seriously, she weighed less than a wet leaf and I’m easily 160/170lb and would crush her! Declining her help I shimmied along the tables and chairs, pee’d and left. I don’t even know if they gave a discount on the meal?!

Funnily enough, we’ve not been invited out again 🤣