It’s been a strange week, not least because my other half, Mr Bear, ended up staying home to work for three days after catching his foot against the door in the middle of the night. We think he’s either broken or seriously injured his toe. A call to the NHS helpline meant he’s had it strapped up and been unable to walk on it for a few days.
Of course, this almost nixed our plans to use my first Saturday off in ages to visit the York Christmas market. In the end, we did end up going, but Howard Bear’s foot was still quite achy and we didn’t stay as long as we possibly would have liked.
However, it was absolutely belting it down with rain, so I’m partly glad we didn’t stay that long and went, instead, to find somewhere warm to dry off and eat.
So exactly a week after Valentines Day, it’s my 24th birthday. Huzzah and all that.
Usually what happens is that I get excited about my birthday from the beginning of the month and then slowly February dissolves into a mess of troubles and misery so by the time it’s my birthday I am disinterested and sulky.
Apparently this year is no different, but at least this time nobody familial has died… yet.
Instead my lovely other half is looking at a possible pay cut, which would end in us being unable to afford to stay in our little flat. It would mean moving back to our parents and living separately again.