OK, so all the boys in my tutor group are telling me that my face looks like I've gone ten rounds with Ricky Hatton. Like I'd know he is! I'm assuming he must be some boxer or something but I am soooooooo anti-blood sports - which means, come to think of it, that trampolining needs to be added to my list of physical activities to be avoided.
As a rsult of my unfortunate (and mortifyingly humiliating) encounter with the aforementioned health and safety death-trap, I've got two black eyes, a sprained wrist and my mouth looks as though I've been snogging a barbed wire fence! It's worse than when Spud and I got lip-locked at the Youth Centre Hallowe'en party.
But, on the good side - Mrs Monroe (my unfriendly, neighbourhood sadist - aka my orthodontist) says that my braces can come off! Yay! Mind you the springs of the trampoline managed to knock half of the rail-tracks off anyway, but imagine that - after eighteen months of mouth-al torture, I'll be free to eat and drink all sorts of fabulous stuff again.
You see, every cloud really does have a silver lining - or in my case a metal lining.
I think I might have to give up on the whole Tyrone Pearman thing though - he was not nice at all when I was stuck in the trampoline. On the other hand, Marc Briggs was really sweet to me - and there was sparkage - defo! I'll give my face a couple of weeks to go down and then I'll give Marc a call. Ooooooo I can't wait.
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