A Tale of "Whoa!" -- July 2, 2007

The alarm sounded at exactly four am.

Apparently this shriking, digital device of the devil had been left activated by the previous tenant who had had an early flight out the day before. (NOTE: There is now a contract out on this person's life; information as to his/her whereabouts will be richly rewarded.)

I leapt out of bed in a stupor, determined even in my hazy, jet-lagged, more-than-half-asleep state to throw the damn thing out the window before it could wake Olivia. Speed was of the essence as the alarm was growing louder and more shrill by the second. I’d taken one giant step from the bed when I crashed to the floor like a stoned englishmen at one of the local "coffee shops." My right leg, it turned out, was completely asleep. And the lack of any feeling from my thigh down combined with the typical fun-house slope of a 400 year old canal house and slippery wood floors caused my downfall – literally.

To make a long story marginally less long – Olivia was awakened by the *%$#@ alarm and never went back to sleep. I did manage to get back to sleep, but when I woke up, found my right ankle swollen and tender along the top and completely useless in supporting my weight.

So, here we are in one of the most beautiful “walk cities” in the world, and I’m unable to walk – at least for a couple of days. When Diana described the perfection of the cappuccinos served to the “dine here” patrons at the bakery shop around the corner, I nearly wept. I never thought being a “take-away” diner would make me feel like a second-class citizen, but there you have it; such is the sorry state of treatment we in the disabled minority have come to expect despite years of struggle.