Toes, toilets and traditions

Today we had a wedding to go to in the Renaissance Hotel in Hong Kong, and as is traditional for my wife and I, one of us has to arrive with a broken toe. Last time around it was my wife, leaping across the living room in a misguided attempt to stop me putting Marmite on toast, before colliding with the coffee table, and this time it was me, accidentally kicking the bed and then falling to the floor in indescribable, inexplicable pain. (Although careful perusal of my blog shows that I’ve bust other toes in the last 6 years, here and here.

At least when my wife did it, we didn’t have children around to step on our wounded toes.
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