and how was your weekend?

I trust you all had a better weekend than me. It was London Gay Pride weekend and the weather was crap. I couldn't get enthused enough to leave the house. Gay Scott and his ex went to Paris for for Paris Pride and asked me to go but I decided to stay home and keep an eye on the pool preparations and be there for the party deliveries. People better be hungry for ribs on this 4th because I have them running out my ears.

I grabbed a box cutter to cut the twine on the butchers package and promptly sliced the base of my thumb. (no alcohol was involved - just my carelessness) Blood went everywhere. I tried direct pressure with little success. In a few minutes it was apparent I was going to need stitches. Jane was out so I had to wrap my hand in a towel then grab an umbrella and head to Chelsea and Westminster Hospital by myself. The hospital is a comfortable walk away but trying to hold an umbrella and also hold my other had up and keep the towel wrapped proved too hard. By the second block I had thrown away the umbrella. The towel was now soaked and blood was running down my arm. I picked up the pace and began to trot while getting soaked by the rain. By the time I reached the hospital A and E I looked like I had survived a stabbing and a drowning. While waiting for the stitches I called the bf. So what if there was an 8 hour time difference? I needed sympathy but got little.

Me: Hi babe. I'm at the hospital getting stitches.
Bf: Mwhuh? What time is it?
Me: Oh shit, must be 3 am there.
Bf: Gimme a sec. What did you say about a hospital?
Me: I tried to cut my hand off and now I'm getting stitches.
Bf: Told you I would be home in 3 weeks. There was no need to cut your wrists.
Me: Ha. I look like a Texas Chainsaw Massacre survivor.
Bf: That's hot. Take pics for me.
Me: You are too sick for words.
Bf: Uh huh, that's why you love me.
Me: I better let you go back to sleep. The doctor just walked in to stitch me up.
Bf: I guess this means your career as a hand model is over. Be more careful, idiot, and call me if he tries to amputate anything below the waist.

Eleven stitches and 2 1/2 hours later I came home to a frantic Jane. She arrived home to find a bloody kitchen and no Ray in sight. We spent the next hour cleaning up the mess.

Sunday was uneventful. I had to cancel plans to go to the Diana Memorial Concert with friends. Clapping would have been out of the question.

One bit of good news though - I'm ambidextrous so I can still spank the monkey.