Desperado

We were due to meet up with friends this afternoon (one of whom, quite scarily, also recently did his wrist in), but I had to break the bad news to them and cancel due to my nasty clients who insist on filling my every moment in the lead-up to the hols.

Mind you, work isn't going by any means swimmingly, and I gave in to the distraction temptation and watched the Italian Grand Prix when I should have been deeply involved in designing a magazine ad (not a great race for Ferrari on their home stomping ground, with Massa retiring early and Raikkonen caught napping by Hamilton after stealing a march thanks to clever pit strategy -- and I lost the rag several times at the spin the commentators insisted on putting on the ongoing Ferrari/McLaren wrangle about alleged fraudulent conduct: time and again we were told how wonderful the McLaren crew were to put all the 'pressure' behind them and concentrate on the job at hand, all as if the accusations amount to nothing and McLaren are indisputably innocent of any wrong-doing ... but enough of that).

I'd been sitting in front of the pooter since 8.30 am apart from half-hour breaks every hour and a half to give the wrist a rest, and I was feeling a bit shattered by 3.30. I treated myself to a little refreshing lie-down, set the alarm for 5.00 and actually nodded off. After the raucously rude awakening my thoughts turned to Blip and I mulled over going out for a wander but decided against it. A quick think and quicker look-around confirmed that just about everything in the house has already served as Blip fodder in situations like this, and desperation was beginning to set in. That's when I reached for the shirt which I'd hung on the wardrobe doorknob and there it was: today's blip!

About A Shirt:
When the plaster was fitted to replace the velcroed 'splint' I'd originally been given, I wasn't able to get my arm into the sleeve of the jacket I'd been wearing. That brought home to me the extra limitations which the plaster would add to things, and so it proved. I'm glad the wrist breakage didn't happen in the depths of winter, because I probably would have looked pretty silly going around wearing short-sleeved shirts while everyone else was wrapped up in cold-weather gear. I quickly worked my way through my limited stock of short-sleeved shirts and decided to get some more. The main criterion when selecting the new shirts was to make sure that the plaster would fit through the sleeve opening, and I'm sure other shop customers were intrigued by the sight of me taking down shirts and testing them for plaster clearance. Anyway, this is one of the shirts I bought while my lower arm was encased in plaster. Not only were its sleeve-ends loose enough to accommodate the plaster, but it will make a nice addition to my holiday gear (paraphrase: I know it's a bit bright and loud and stripey).