Originally posted on greenfairydotcom

A Saturday night which was blossoming beautifully into a glitter-soaked Sunday morning was impolitely curtailed last night by four hours in casualty with a suspiciously broken-feeling arm.

You could blame my vodka consumption having reached double figures in less than two hours, or you could say it was the fault of a ridiculously smooth-soled pair of platform shoes, but I prefer to think of a dance floor awash with beer that was to blame for my flawless running start half way from across the club onto the dance floor for a good song turning suddenly and most annoyingly into sailing through the air and landing in a crumpled, flat-on-face sprawl.

I have been to A&E twice before in my life, both times as a child and both as a result of twatting around, falling over and putting my right arm out to break the fall. You'd think I would have learnt to go down on my arse by now. I braved it out on the floor of the ladies for all of three minutes, deeply reluctant to give up an splendid evening that I'd spent so long appling eyeshadow for before admitting that an ambulance was looking an increasingly attractive option.

Let me say, I am incredibly enamoured of gas and air. I'd never had it before but after three or four gulps in the back of the ambulance I was all for getting them to turn the vehicle back round and going back for some more dancing. I was terribly disappointed that they didn't let me take it into the hospital with me. The nurse of course gave me painkillers once I arrived but I think a little more gas and air would have made the tedious three hour wait to be seen post x-ray considerably more bearable for me (and my lovely friend who waited with me the entire time and didn't say 'twat' once).

Not that there wasn't an ever-present contingent of other walking wounded to keep us amused. A depressed looking skater girl (morning after pill, I surmise), four middle aged men in quick succession with limps (what had they been doing?), three Goths with one of them looking like they'd just had their first encounter with this wacky baccy everyone's been telling them about and a twenty something woman so comatose with drink she lay down on the floor and went to sleep, waking occasionally to interject something wildly, Father Jack style, before falling asleep again.

I was summarily dismissed after they told me it wasn't broken, so now I'm at home with codeine, frozen peas, a right arm I can't move more than four inches in any direction and a 7,000 word essay to type out letter by letter with my left hand for Tuesday morning.

I'm so fucking rock and roll.

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