Last night I fell down the stairs and sprained my ankle, as well as bruising myself. Ouch! and ouch! And I wasn't even wearing high heels!
I've not had the best night's sleep and it's pretty obvious that I won't be walking properly for a while yet.
Fortunately, I have some compression stockings left over from the last time I damaged that leg. I just hope this isn't going to become a habit. (The best laid plans)
In this eerie winter of Covid when there's little to do outdoors anyway, this is not the end of the world, and it'll be much like any other week! I have WiFi, I have reading matter, I have TV, I have hobbies, I have food. Life stripped to its essentials with lots to do that's relaxing is actually quite appealing. I feel a lot of people are beginning to appreciate a less hectic, less cluttered, more homely life in these weird stay-at-home days of Covid lockdowns. I can see an end to this destructive illness but maybe we've got some good from it and will better appreciate the benefits of home cosiness once we're out of danger.
To all my Scottish friends, happy Burns Night. Lang may yer lums reek!
In my last year at university I shared a house with a Scottish postdoctoral researcher. He was into the chirality of organic compounds, I was into philology. We never argued as neither understood the other's field! Anyway, he held a traditional Burns Supper complete with address, haggis and bagpipes. He couldn't play the bagpipes but a Venezuelan student he knew could (believe it or not, he'd learnt to play the bagpipes in a band in Venezuela).
So one dark 25 January evening a dozen people squashed into the small front room of a cottage in a quiet Devon village and the haggis was piped in by Carlos the Venezuelan Bagpiper. Now the pipes are a fine instrument for playing from the battlements or out on the moors; in the confined space of a small house the sound is deafening. What on earth the locals from the other end of the country made of the sudden skirling I do not know. "Oh croiky," they'd likely have said, "what in blue blazes be that! Ole Farmer Gearge must be a-castratin' pigs or zummat! Barkin'!"
Anyway, it was a successful if weird evening and I usually treat myself to a haggis on Burns Night in fond memory. However, haggis is not a delicacy available here in Italy so I may have a cotechino instead, which is a similar concept, but with pork not lamb.
|Sliced cotechino and boiled potatoes|
Well, this wasn't what I had planned to write about today but obviously my plans got thrown awry because of my little accident. I will soon be sharing some videos that have been made on trans life by the people who live it, which are think are high quality, informative and not a little moving. And adding sections for photos and resources.
A dip in the archives
Elsewhere on social media people have been putting up black and white photos of themselves from better times. Here's mine, a proper portrait taken by professional photographer Stella in her home in 2014. One of my favourites.
Cari lettori italiani
Ieri sera sono caduta dalle scale e mi sono stortata la caviglia. Non posso camminare e dunque dovrò rimanere in casa per qualche giorno. Però, in questi giorni brutti, non è che ci sia molto da fare fuori di casa! La foto in bianco e nero è un ricordo di tempi migliori.
Il 25 gennaio è un giorno di festa in Scozia dove si mangia la specialità nazionale, stomaco di pecora riempita di coratella trita. Viene portata in tavola al suono della cornamusa, che è uno strumento possentissimo e, secondo me, non idoneo agli spazi intimi come una sala da pranzo! Però la tradizione è quella.