Staircases to Hell

Chris is now banned from using staircases in Europe.

It must be the whole being upside-down thing, but he fell down stairs at Annika's in London last time we came, and this morning he's done it again in Malaoi. Last time he earned himself a huge haematoma on his thigh, and this time he's dislocated a shoulder, an injury I'm intimate with, and do not envy him.

I had a lovely morning, tidying up our room, then wandering the two or so kilometres down to Paralia for a few hours on the beach. I walked back up the hill with a bottle of frozen water (in case of any hot-headedness), and had lunch, wondering why T&M&C weren't back from town yet, and then I just had a call from the hospital.

Crazy!

Yesterday I didn't go to the beach, because of the previous day's sun-stroke, but had a good day nonetheless. We had a quiet night.

The funny thing is I had a bad feeling about today. I had awful thoughts of another fire on the road to Malaoi or a car crash, but didn't say anything, because it always seems so melodramatic to mention these feelings. I wish I had now. Maybe Chris would have seen the water on the steps if I'd 'done a Cassandra' before they left.