So the story is simple. We’ve finished our training course so we head to the bar. George shows me the bizarre bunker like area of TV Centre where the cash machines are, which I didn’t know existed.
Once at the bar, we drink some pints and all have some interesting, and occasionally ranty conversations, but a good time is had by all.
After pint four I decide to call it a day and leave the BBC Club in a happy mood. I catch the lift and walk across the car park to the exit.
Then I trip up in spectacular fashion. Someone comes over to help me up but I pull myself up – thanks for the offer whoever you are – and jokingly blame it on the drink. In reality I was actually feeling pretty clear headed, and I can trip up over a piece of paper if I put my mind to it, but I tried to play it down. I noticed that I’d managed to make a hole in my trousers and grazed my knee.
Now it’s morning, it still hurts and given most of my plans for the day involved going to the gym and getting some exercise, well I guess I’ll have to find something else to do.
Sigh. As problems go, it’s not the end of the world. Just a mild annoyance that sometimes you don’t want.