My Mum was British and had (and has) relatives and friends over there, and used to go back every so often for a visit. To get there (and back), she'd have to make a stop in Vancouver anyways, so when I lived in the Lower Mainland she'd stay overnight on the return trip and we'd have a bit of a visit.
One time she was on a trip back from a visit with old friends and school chums in England, and called me just as I was about to leave to meet her. "I hope you won't be too terribly disappointed," she said, knowing we had planned to spend an afternoon in the city together, "But I'm afraid I hurt my leg and can't really get around very well." She told me she'd hurt it in a fall (just a pulled muscle, luckily) and was having to use a cane to get around, and wasn't up for wandering all over as we usually did.
"No worries," said I, envisioning a stumble down some British steps and ensuing tensor bangades; "The visit is the main thing. We'll have a nice cup of tea and a chat." And I headed out to meet her at the hotel.
It ends up that my mother had not pulled a muscle in her leg while stumbling outside someone's door in England. It seems that, somehow, on this latest trip to England, she'd managed to fall off a mule. In Marrakesh.
"Well, I'd seen everyone I'd wanted to see," she said, so she and my "Auntie" Anna (actually my Mum's cousin and life-long friend) decided to hop over to Morocco. They shopped the market in Marrakesh (where she got me some very pretty silver earrings), and took a mule tour up a mountain. But they had to sit sideways on the mules, like in Joseph and Mary's trip to Bethlehem, rather than straddling them as a European would (the "saddles" wouldn't allow it) and the mule had stumbled over a loose stone ("Everyone always says they're so sure-footed," she'd said; "Well, they're not,"), and she'd fallen off, and pulled a muscle. A groin muscle, not her leg as she'd originally told me, as she clarified when I expressed some surprise at no bandages around her ankle.
So my Mum is the only person I know who pulled a groin muscle while falling off a mule in Marrakesh, during her trip to England. Heh.
Otherwise it was a fantastic trip, apparently, and she'd had a great time and loved every minute of it that didn't involve stumbling mules.
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Date: 2013-12-11 04:09 pm (UTC)My Mum was British and had (and has) relatives and friends over there, and used to go back every so often for a visit. To get there (and back), she'd have to make a stop in Vancouver anyways, so when I lived in the Lower Mainland she'd stay overnight on the return trip and we'd have a bit of a visit.
One time she was on a trip back from a visit with old friends and school chums in England, and called me just as I was about to leave to meet her. "I hope you won't be too terribly disappointed," she said, knowing we had planned to spend an afternoon in the city together, "But I'm afraid I hurt my leg and can't really get around very well." She told me she'd hurt it in a fall (just a pulled muscle, luckily) and was having to use a cane to get around, and wasn't up for wandering all over as we usually did.
"No worries," said I, envisioning a stumble down some British steps and ensuing tensor bangades; "The visit is the main thing. We'll have a nice cup of tea and a chat." And I headed out to meet her at the hotel.
It ends up that my mother had not pulled a muscle in her leg while stumbling outside someone's door in England. It seems that, somehow, on this latest trip to England, she'd managed to fall off a mule. In Marrakesh.
"Well, I'd seen everyone I'd wanted to see," she said, so she and my "Auntie" Anna (actually my Mum's cousin and life-long friend) decided to hop over to Morocco. They shopped the market in Marrakesh (where she got me some very pretty silver earrings), and took a mule tour up a mountain. But they had to sit sideways on the mules, like in Joseph and Mary's trip to Bethlehem, rather than straddling them as a European would (the "saddles" wouldn't allow it) and the mule had stumbled over a loose stone ("Everyone always says they're so sure-footed," she'd said; "Well, they're not,"), and she'd fallen off, and pulled a muscle. A groin muscle, not her leg as she'd originally told me, as she clarified when I expressed some surprise at no bandages around her ankle.
So my Mum is the only person I know who pulled a groin muscle while falling off a mule in Marrakesh, during her trip to England. Heh.
Otherwise it was a fantastic trip, apparently, and she'd had a great time and loved every minute of it that didn't involve stumbling mules.