Prolapsed sun and stormy back

We’re here! And alive. Yay! No missed planes and no mishaps (minus the prolapsed disc five days ago, of course, but I’m choosing to ignore that in favour of valium and codeine... in which case I should technically edit the first sentence to read: “I’m half here”).

But first things first - Istanbul: The blue mosque is not really blue at all, it’s grey (the liars), and that colour basically matches the sky, except the sky is a lot wetter and so are my feet. Gladiator sandals and monsoons are not a good combination, for future reference.



So to sum up, I’ve brought a prolapsed disc, a Monsoon wardrobe and an actual monsoon with me to Turkey. Perfect. If only the Monsoon wardrobe was waterproof.

In other news, Aaron has new Birkenstocks which are literally eating his foot away like some kind of expensive German leprosy, so we’ve spent the day hobbling around like a pair of half-wits. To add to that, my back has been so stupidly painful I haven’t even been able to drag my special disabled wheely backpack along on its wheels, which has left Aaron in a bit of blistered double backpack-carrying dilemma.

So right now we’re frizzy-haired, mute and bleary-eyed, sat in a bar correctly named the ‘Backpacker Bar’, listening to Salt-n-Pepper and Eric Morales blaring from the speakers. Eurosport’s on the TV, and in front of us are two pints of Carlsberg. British much?