Sore

Poor Andy broke his left thumb during the first match of the rugby sevens finals day. 

Very brave, he was. 

There'd been some complicated logistics, with Mo dropping me at Meadowmill while she took George to Aberlady for football - after which, they would come to watch the rugby. 

Annoyingly, after I'd sat in the cafe killing time, the rugby had kicked off early - and the first I saw of the game was Andy leaving the pitch. Looking at the shape of his thumb, the medics had told him to get X-rayed, to find out whether it was broken or dislocated. 

When Mo arrived, she took Andy to the Royal Infirmary, and dropped George and I at Fort Kinnaird. So while they were waiting, we watched Whisky Galore (I think we got the better deal).  

We met up again at Nando's, where a plate of plainish wings went some way to cheering up Andy after his ordeal.  All in all, not the day we'd expected.