Some of you know I was having a crap day yesday; everything I did seemed to be wrong, so I got hubby to take me to my favourite haunt in London this evening, Canary Wharf.
We stopped off at McD's, which is nestled just underneath C.W. No, no, we never eat there, we like their coffee. We used to sit outside, on their benches, rain or shine, to drink our coffee and have a fag. But the last time we sat outside there, we noticed a gun shot hole in the window pane right above where we usually sit, so we decided we'd take our drinks elsewhere.
The people in McD's were too tight to put the coffees into the cardboard holders, so I was holding onto them for the 1 minute ride to the back road behind C.W. All the while I'm saying how hot the cups were and that they actually smelled like they were melting.
Hubby takes his out of my hand, and mine decides to cave in, covering my hands, my lap, my legs and my feet with scalding hot coffee, some of it even splashed onto my face. It hurt so much I was screaming and crying. Hubby gets the water he keeps to top the car up and pours it over my hands, which is what hurt the most. That's all over. Then blow me if on the way home, via the M25, we only go and get a puncture on the back wheel. So hubby has to find a safe-ish spot, just near the M40 where the motorway maintance people store their stuff, and change the tyre.
I'm sure yesterdaywas Friday the 13th
We stopped off at McD's, which is nestled just underneath C.W. No, no, we never eat there, we like their coffee. We used to sit outside, on their benches, rain or shine, to drink our coffee and have a fag. But the last time we sat outside there, we noticed a gun shot hole in the window pane right above where we usually sit, so we decided we'd take our drinks elsewhere.
The people in McD's were too tight to put the coffees into the cardboard holders, so I was holding onto them for the 1 minute ride to the back road behind C.W. All the while I'm saying how hot the cups were and that they actually smelled like they were melting.
Hubby takes his out of my hand, and mine decides to cave in, covering my hands, my lap, my legs and my feet with scalding hot coffee, some of it even splashed onto my face. It hurt so much I was screaming and crying. Hubby gets the water he keeps to top the car up and pours it over my hands, which is what hurt the most. That's all over. Then blow me if on the way home, via the M25, we only go and get a puncture on the back wheel. So hubby has to find a safe-ish spot, just near the M40 where the motorway maintance people store their stuff, and change the tyre.
I'm sure yesterdaywas Friday the 13th
