What a week! We set off for a ten-day holiday to Copenhagen, Helsinki and Stockholm last Monday as a treat for John’s birthday. We had the guide books, the hotels, ferry and planes were booked, and all I can think of is Robert Burns’s words:

‘The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men

Gang aft agley’ ….

We ate well the first night, and drank the good Danish beer, and the following morning we hooked up with a Red Guide lady who took us for a two-hour walking tour of the old parts of Copenhagen.

We saw the old medieval parts of the city, a church to St Peter,

fabulous pastry shops,

and a flower shop that costs you 40 kroner just to browse! It is responsible for the ‘arrangements’ at the Palace.

Our guide was fun and we really enjoyed it all; the changing of the guard was worrying, as the guards didn’t look much older than Bonnie.

At twelve we said goodbye to our guide, and went to find some water.

Just past the Nyhaven port hubbub I spied a corner shop, and nipped down the four or five stone steps to the entrance. I slipped and fell, and heard a sickening snap. I knew something horrible had happened to the ankle. John demanded ice and water and soon I was sitting on an upturned crate and waiting for transport to the A&E. X-rays showed a clean break and I was fitted with a Moon Boot and crutches and that was that. Five weeks for it to heal apparently.

How horrific, how sudden and how annoying.

The next day we tried to soldier on (such a trouper), and went to the Glyptotek museum.

I was able to borrow a wheelchair and the first room we visited seemed a little ironic, it was full of Degas’ statues of dancers in all sorts of impossible positions. I looked down at the boot and sighed.

Later we had to get a metal ramp to wheel me down some steps to another part of the gallery. John valiantly pushed and manoeuvred me down, bearing my great weight. ‘Am I too heavy?’ I asked, a little concerned about his hernias. ‘No, you’re fine, it’s just the boot that’s heavy.’ Hmph.

We met another wheelchair-bound lady. She asked me if I was a professional, as her chair had breaks in the handle and all sorts of gizmos to help her husband. I told her I was just a learner, and it was all very new.

It was too hard, too sore, and the prospect of the forthcoming cities and ferries was just too daunting, so we booked a flight home. The airport was amazing, kindly porters, and I felt very looked after. Just the general public were a worry, as they bashed into my leg in their hurry to pass. I took to fending them off with my crutch.

I was told to sit by the window in case there was a need to evacuate the plane. ‘We don’t want you hindering other peoples’ way to the exit.’ Quite. Funny what you learn when you are temporarily disabled. I shall be kinder in future.

And so we are home, and John had a lovely birthday here, with a delicious lunch out at the Wee Restaurant (2 Michelin stars) and we sat out in the sun afterwards. It was a lot cheaper than Denmark, where a cup of coffee cost £10.

I have been reading lots, to compensate for not being able to sew. I was enthralled with The Children’s Hour, a novel of the 1930s by Lillian Hellman, set in a girls’ school. The villain was a fourteen-year-old girl who was so bad, so evil, that she totally destroyed people’s lives. If I had watched it live, I think I would have leapt on the stage (minus crutches) and strangled her. Now I am now reading Scoop by Evelyn Waugh. So funny, and such irreverent satire. Funny as I came across the description of a serving boy, with ‘a face of ageless evil’, could have described the child from the last book.

I am a little concerned as I am booked to do a further sewing class in September, learning how to draw with my machine. I absolutely loved the last one, when I learnt how to do a rose and a lady. When I got home I did a cottage and a hare and joined them altogether and made a cushion. I am really pleased with it. I so want to continue.

My little Bonnie is to start nursery on the 8^th of September. She has to wear a uniform in Wales, and Natasha sent me a picture of her in her new get-up.

So grown up, I just wanted to shout Auden’s famous lines from Funeral Blues:

‘Stop all the clocks!’

She is only three and a half. I like Bonnie best in her T-shirts and leggings and her strawberry dress.

Hazel is just happy to smile, and survives her camping weekends wrapped up in a blanket as her mum and dad wrestle with putting up the tent.

And Darcey had her first conversation with Gerry:

‘What you doing, Mumma?

‘I’m loading the dishwasher, Darcey.’

‘Oh wow!’

The end!

Finally – some shots of the King Wa, as we knew it in Malaysia. We did go to the Botanic Garden and an expert gave us its Latin name.  It is Rhipsalis mesembryanthoides and originates in Brazil. It has done us proud, producing 14 flowers and there are three more buds ready to open any night now. The smell is AMAZING. If I was a moth I would just throw myself at it, with careless abandon, and die in ecstasy!