So today, instead of flying to Boston, I went to a meeting at a Hospital 50 miles away, to have a serious argument with some difficult Emergency Trauma doctors.
They knew I was coming, and I had a call on my way there to say they had drawn battle-lines and were a-ready for me. The meeting was quite heated, and I had to conclude it by saying my decision was final. They realised I was not going to change my position, so they reluctantly accepted it.
On the way out to the car park, I tripped on the stairs outside the ER (don't ask), landed badly and broke several bones in my right hand.
So, Mr Humility spends the afternoon being treated by these guys. They were patient, pleasant, professional and I couldn't have wished for better care. I still didn't back down but I'll send 'em a case of single malt.
So after a 3 hr wait for a ride (biiig favour from a very nice guy), my car is 50 miles away, I can't drive for a few weeks, and it's taken 20 f'uckin minutes to type this left-handed, and my hand hurts like ****.
Some f'ucking weeked, eh?
Drink up, me lads. Drink up!