Near death by Swing Bin

Near death by Swing Bin

And just when I thought things might calm down, I took a tumble. Not down the stairs or in some dramatic, windswept way. No, I fell into the plastic kitchen bin. Yes. Headfirst. Head near the leftover carbonara. Lid flapping indignantly.

I’m still not entirely sure how it happened. Could’ve been low blood sugar, hormonal chaos, or that four-legged liability Pickle darting underfoot like a furry assassin. Either way, I ended up elbow-deep in shudder inducing foodstuffs. Not my finest moment.

Honestly, I could win medals for accidental slapstick at this point. My life: one part rom-com, two parts You’ve Been Framed, with a sprinkling of NHS drama and an artsy classical music accompanied soirée thrown in for good measure.

So that’s been my week. If you’ve had fewer ambulances, more upright moments, and managed to avoid becoming intimate with your recycling, I’d say you’re winning. Me? I’m off to nurse a bruised ego and maybe invest in a sturdier bin.