You’re broken? I’m broken too!

Today is the EU Referendum. It’s a big decision, and due to David Cameron’s bluff being called during his negotiations, it’s been given to us, the people.

This isn’t an explicitly political post, but I wanted to share my favourite moments from the campaigns which doesn’t focus on the below-the-belt nastiness.

These include the mystic moggy on the BBC’s Daily Politics Show, the slowest armada battle on the Thames between frog-faced Farage and Sir Bob Geldof, and the blond buffoon Boris brandishing asparagus and proclaiming it will be even more delicious if we leave the EU.

Meanwhile, the ‘innie vs. outie’ debate had Joey Essex lift his shirt and study his bellybutton.

I’ve collected the most memorable EU posters and included them below.

I chose to exercise my right to vote, and hopped to my local polling station. On my way out, a woman with a blue cast around her wrist exclaimed, ‘This is clearly the time for disabled people to vote!’

She gestured to my crutches and my Terminator knee brace. I smiled at her in the spirit of solidarity, and began to turn away towards home.

She circled round and did something characteristically un-British. She asked a complete stranger a question and wanted to continue the conversation. ‘Ligament?’ I said not this time, cartilage, and wished her a speedy recovery, turning once again.

She explained that she had broken her ankle three years ago, but now she’d busted her wrist, and her writing hand to boot. I empathised with her, before politely spinning on my foot.

The impulse for strangers to share their medical history with me is an unexpected side effect of being injured. Perhaps it’s not so strange though – after all, we Brits do love to complain.

Sometimes it feels like a game of Top Trumps: I see your broken arm and I raise you a double hip replacement. It doesn’t stop at the realm of orthopaedics either. I receive the full whack of ailments, prescribed pills and pain relief.

At first, it baffled me. But Tom pointed out that it’s understandable as they see me and think ‘You’re broken. I’m broken too!’ It’s human nature to recognise each other and sympathise with those who look as though they’re having a hard time.

Halfway home, Tom and I reached the pedestrian crossing point. As I’m so slow, I take a leaf out of my sister’s book and wait for the road to be completely empty before I amble across.

Tom tactically stands downwind so that drivers can see me. He’s right, one out of every five will kindly stop and let me go. But not today. We stand there for a while while the clouds threaten to drop more biblical rain on us (our local tube station is submerged).

A mobility scooter edges itself towards us, and the cars lagging behind are trying to nip out and overtake. We wait patiently, and I shift my weight from my sore hands to my leg.

Without warning, the man on the scooter swings into the centre of the lane. He stretches out his right arm, and his lower lip juts out in defiance. He is stopping the traffic for us. I smile at him as we pass towards the island, and he then continues down the road as we wait for another driver to take pity.

To all the Brits reading this: if I can get out and vote, you certainly can!

Voting polling station


Picture credits

Inside EU: 

Shake it all about:

Trump and Boris:

One Comment Add yours

  1. RJ Dawson says:

    Thank you for the visit. Wishing you a speedy recovery!


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