So for the last few nights I've been stuck at the Royal London Hospital, Whitechapel. Turns out I was walking around on a broken leg for the past month. They wheeled me in, cut my leg open at the knee and drilled a metal rod into my tibula. Hopefully it won't bend anymore! But I'm back, and there is much fun on the horizon!
I met some great people at the Royal. A young kid was under police guard after a robbery went wrong and he ended up getting sliced. Part of the 'Roman Road' E3 crew, he proceeded to tell the police names and addresses of all his accomplices. I look forward to hearing the news on 'London Tonight' when his 'friends' find out he has suddenly become a super grass.
Another kid got stabbed 9 times after leaving a club last Saturday night. Getting caught down a dead end, a lovely group of Beckton kids decided to shred him to pieces with screwdrivers and knives. Oh what a wonderful city we live in!
The nurses were amazing! An old gentleman next door to be, who had just undergone a biopsy, asked for a bowl of water so he could wash his aching body. The Jamaican sister declared 'Can you not walk! Are your legs not working? There is a bathroom over there!' When we are at our lowest there is always someone who will push us down that little bit more.
Anyway, it took me about 8 hours to get out of the hospital. Even though the doctors had said I could go, the lovely staff on George Ward must have liked my face just a little bit too much. I could tell they liked me, after calling me stupid for getting so many tattoos, and kissing their teeth at me because I asked if they could fix my bed, I could feel the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
Another hospital stay over. Hopefully my leg won't snap again, but I'm not too sure. But enough complaining. It's my girlfriend's birthday today, so we're having a little soiree round my gaff tomorrow, so I will be blogging furiously over the next few days. Keep reading!
Spare change guv'ner?