D.I.Y.

I'm hurt, dear reader. Really. I've got a big gash on my leg - from changing a lightbulb. Yes, I know, hard to believe isn't it? DON'T ASK ME WHY I chose to stand on a collapsible chair to do this relatively mundane task. Because, of course, that's just what it did, bringing me down with it. And pulling the doors off the sink unit in the process. Leaving me lying on the floor, surrounded by cat food, splintered wood and cupboard doors with one leg still trapped in the chair that was now firmly wedged between the two kitchen cupboards. I felt like I'd stepped into "Stalingrad" (though with slightly less snow and mud). For one - mad - moment, I thought I might have to try and amputate my trapped foot using my prized Japanese kitchen knife. Then I realised that if I wrenched the other door from its hinges, I would in fact be able to free the chair and thus save my foot. Phew. High drama indeed for a Sunday. I wouldn't be surprised if someone made a movie about it. And the day had gone so well up to that point. Dee-lish brunch + pancakes with Signor G. and then a wander round this fine, if small, exhibition at the Swedish Cultural Centre. The SCC is housed in a beautiful hôtel particulier a mere stone's throw from Rhino75 Towers and is - at the moment - home to this rather fine glass owl, too. If all goes to plan, I shall be spending a lot more time there (but more about that another time...) All in all, a fine afternoon for wandering round aimlessly in the Paris winter sunshine and sipping coffee on a terrace. Which is exactly what we did. Completely bonkers queue to look at the re-hung permanent collection at the Pompidou Centre today, BTW. Whatever.