misadventure

I thought I had passed the Frozen By Fear stage of planning (the one where I have constant nightmares about being murdered, and where people's more hair-raising scrape stories make my breath halt and my toes curl for days) and was reaching Thrilled And Excited once more.
Then I crashed my car. Bones intact, dignity shattered. Moreso because I crash so many of them, and knew what to do. Spent the first five minutes in a crouch position, waiting for my head to stop shrieking at the impact. Knew what to do, to a worrying degree.

Meeting my own schadenfreude on the way back.

In one (long deliciously lost and uncontrolled) weekend, I lost my bank cards ("Where did you lose them madame?" "I'm afraid I don't know. Somewhere in London." "Good night, was it, madam?" "You could say that."), my jaw developed crippling levels of tooth ache (I paid for a restaurant meal and then COULDN'T EAT IT. Seriously out of character, and costing me half a grand to set right), and totally destroyed the car I sold to my sister for a quid.

I'm so the independent practical minded jetsetter.

Hope she doesn't want the quid back.