When it starts to fall apart, it really falls apart

ow fucking ow.

See, I have these new shoes; well, not exactly new. My red sandals that I wore all summer fell apart so I needed something else in a hurry. I adopted a pair of wooden Scholl sandals that were too big for Mum and have been sitting around Grimmauld Place unworn for something like two years.

They fit me OK but they're these great big fucking wooden clanky clog things. They take getting used to and I'm nowhere near used to them. It feels unsafe walking anywhere and I creep down the stairs clutching the banisters like I was ninety. Also they terrify Squish with their newness and cloppiness and the way they make me move, so he creeps down the stairs like I beat him three times a day and when we're out he pulls on the leash to get away from the scary shoes. Not. Helpful.

So I knew it was a disaster waiting to happen, it's just that until Mum comes up with the pair of trainers promised for my b-day it's either wear the scary clogthings or go barefoot, and while I might have managed barefoot in summer, the ground at the moment is covered in slugs and acorns as well as the usual broken glass and stuff.

er. anyway. So we're walking down Woodbury Avenue, and just ahead of us are two of my neighbours heading for the bus stop. And they see the bus coming. So they run to catch it - and my dogs who were just greeting them assume that we must all be running as a group. And of course, inevitably as death, taxes and cats falling in toilets, the Monster Zombie Clogs O'Doom twist underneath me and park me facefirst on the pavement.

I even lost my grip on both leashes, to my eternal shame - luckily both my dogs simply boarded the bus along with the neighbours. But I have two skinned palms, a quite badly skinned knee and a twisted ankle packed in ice. Fuck fuck fuck fuckityfuck bollocks, I say.

When it starts to fall apart, it really falls apart

ow fucking ow.

See, I have these new shoes; well, not exactly new. My red sandals that I wore all summer fell apart so I needed something else in a hurry. I adopted a pair of wooden Scholl sandals that were too big for Mum and have been sitting around Grimmauld Place unworn for something like two years.

They fit me OK but they're these great big fucking wooden clanky clog things. They take getting used to and I'm nowhere near used to them. It feels unsafe walking anywhere and I creep down the stairs clutching the banisters like I was ninety. Also they terrify Squish with their newness and cloppiness and the way they make me move, so he creeps down the stairs like I beat him three times a day and when we're out he pulls on the leash to get away from the scary shoes. Not. Helpful.

So I knew it was a disaster waiting to happen, it's just that until Mum comes up with the pair of trainers promised for my b-day it's either wear the scary clogthings or go barefoot, and while I might have managed barefoot in summer, the ground at the moment is covered in slugs and acorns as well as the usual broken glass and stuff.

er. anyway. So we're walking down Woodbury Avenue, and just ahead of us are two of my neighbours heading for the bus stop. And they see the bus coming. So they run to catch it - and my dogs who were just greeting them assume that we must all be running as a group. And of course, inevitably as death, taxes and cats falling in toilets, the Monster Zombie Clogs O'Doom twist underneath me and park me facefirst on the pavement.

I even lost my grip on both leashes, to my eternal shame - luckily both my dogs simply boarded the bus along with the neighbours. But I have two skinned palms, a quite badly skinned knee and a twisted ankle packed in ice. Fuck fuck fuck fuckityfuck bollocks, I say.

I've hit the bottom many times

ankle is a worse injury than it appeared at first; despite a diclofenac tablet and three hours with an icepack, I can only just hobble on it.

so at this moment in time, right after walking my dogs slowly and painfully to One Stop and back (I was out of electricity and they gotta pee SOMEWHERE) I am very very very grateful for three things:

1. Spike's power brakes and steering, without which I would have been truly fucked and not in the good way. I usually use it with the leash simply clipped to the back-ring, but that chest ring was a lifesaver just now.

2. Squish's gentle nature and disinclination to pull the leash. THANK YOU SQUISHY.

3. The fact that although Spike is a jerk, he's a jerk with the instincts of a gentleman, and he understands a yelp of pain as a signal to be gentle with me.

I've hit the bottom many times

ankle is a worse injury than it appeared at first; despite a diclofenac tablet and three hours with an icepack, I can only just hobble on it.

so at this moment in time, right after walking my dogs slowly and painfully to One Stop and back (I was out of electricity and they gotta pee SOMEWHERE) I am very very very grateful for three things:

1. Spike's power brakes and steering, without which I would have been truly fucked and not in the good way. I usually use it with the leash simply clipped to the back-ring, but that chest ring was a lifesaver just now.

2. Squish's gentle nature and disinclination to pull the leash. THANK YOU SQUISHY.

3. The fact that although Spike is a jerk, he's a jerk with the instincts of a gentleman, and he understands a yelp of pain as a signal to be gentle with me.