My right elbow hurts!

Not, like, a little. Like, every time I pick something up, it’s excruciating. I’ve typed this note through a veil of tears. (Slight exaggeration, I know, but I want you to know how I suffer for you, dear readers).

I blame the injury on having typed a long report for a client last week on my ever-so-tiny laptop. It’s really not suited to creating 150 page documents, including intricate PowerPoint presentations. But hey, they were offering to pay me oodles of money, so how could I resist?

Of course, it’s not possibly the case that our weekend activities could have contributed to the injury. We spent it locked away with 17 other spankos in a lovely country house, for a regency house party set in 1808. It’s the third time we’ve been lucky enough to be invited to the event – and a whole weekend spent role-playing is a quite wonderful experience. (We’re so grateful to the wonderful friends who organised the session).

I played the role of Sir Abel Wetherspoon, proprietor of “The Flagellant”, a scurrilous London scandal sheet. Perish the thought that any of the female guests or staff might have been blackmailed to keep their names out of the papers! So, no: a weekend spent with a variety of delightful girls over my knee – then wielding crops, floggers and other assorted implements – hasn’t contributed to my elbow problems at all.

PS I’m reading a document for work this morning that just described the organisation’s “enhanced training room motivational techniques”. My mind is wandering in directions that I’m sure would shock the trainers concerned…