Friday, January 21, 2011


The sound of the boiling water in the kettle puts a smile on my face. Soon I'll be sipping from a piping hot cup of tea, sitting in a comfortable chair and letting the events of the day drift away. I slowly drink the refreshing beverage and rise up from the chair, tightly clutching the mug in both hands so the radiating heat warms my skin. I saunter over to the window, lightly running my fingers through a plant which sits there, freshly watered and almost beaming with happiness. Out of the window I gaze, the street bustles below and the neighbours are sitting down for an early evening meal. This is relaxing.

Or at least it would be relaxing if I didn't have a broken ankle. My fantasy is shattered, I struggle to maintain balance as I pour the boiling water in and around the mug, scalding my left hand as I do so. The kettle slams down on the worktop and in the same movement my right hand swings across and grabs the pre-opened milk. Milk swishes around in the way that milk only knows how and spurts from the top of the carton. My hand steadies and hastily pours the milk into the cup before I lose my balance for a second time. The cup of tea is sitting there in all it's glory. With glee I grab the hot mug and hop, hop, hop into the living room. With each hop tea splashes everywhere, over the floor, the walls and my jeans, but mostly all over the floor. I curse gravity. I continue to hop to the couch, summoning all power of balance in order to avoid the dry, prickly plant that hasn't been fed in weeks. As carefully as possible I rest my derrière on the couch and catch my breath. Looking down at the cup I see that about a quarter of the tea remains, I take one big swig and it's gone. I sit for a couple of minutes, wondering what's happening outside as all I can see from the couch is the sky.

A broken ankle. It is a very inconvenient. Especially since I had only just recovered from a torn tendon in my ankle, ripped 6 months previously. Especially because I'd only recovered from a badly bruised rib 3 months before that. Perhaps it's also made more inconvenient as I'd only recovered from a broken collar bone sustained 5 months before that.

Before living in Germany I had never received a serious injury in my life (Aside from a few scars involving angry cats, barbed-wire fences, falling out of trees and off skateboards). I've lived in Germany for 17 months. I have spent many of those in pain and trying to look cool as the nurse takes another x-ray. I'm not blaming Germany entirely, I have only had a girlfriend for 24 months. I had never injured myself before meeting her either. It's got to be one of those things causing all these injuries.

Collar Bone. Ouch.

But then again it could be that I have, for the first time since I was 17, been playing rugby again.