A Quiet Drink With The Housemates

In celebration of managing not to eviscerate one another in the whole week we have been living together, we went out for a quiet drink. One whole week of living together. A quiet social drink in town to gently round off a hectic week of living fast and furiously. Just a soft setting in a couple of different pubs.

Ha.

Ha, ha.

We ended up in the fountain outside what I think is the city hall, but then again may just be the municipal buildings. Apparently this now means I probably have anti-freeze in my foot, or possibly just some detergent chlorine substance. Whatever was in the fountain. Because, of course, I had to give myself a gash on the base of my foot. I didn't even notice something until someone pointed out the kitchen floor was covered in blood. I didn't even notice then, even though I thoroughly examined my feet. It was only on the 3am stroll back from the local Spar that I noticed after having stopped to sit on someone's garden wall. I think it's ok, as despite being quite deep it is very clean. After all, as soon as we all got home (before going to Spar) I had a hot steamy shower. Accompanied by three other people.

It's ok now, I have a padded waterproof plaster on it.

I can't wait to discover/introduce them to flaming sambucas.

[Note]: I am blaming any charred flesh on Cathy, as she rec-ed that blog to me. And she's fun to blame things on.