Yesterday was not such a great day. It started well enough: a decent blog entry written; skyped my parents; had breakfast, and then razzed round to the park for coffee. I was there for a while, talking to my friends and listening to conversations. Lyn was supposed to meet me there, but after a while when she didn’t turn up, I nipped back home to see where she was. I needed to pick up my coat anyway.

When I got home, however, L wasn’t here. I reasoned that she must have set out already, and headed back out. There are two ways to Charlton Park from our place: one is up a normal, boring suburban street; the other is through Maryon-Wilson park, a pretty piece of ancient woodland. Lyn usually takes the far more interesting latter, so I thought I’d take the shorter path and meet her on the main Woolwich road. The two routes come on to that road at different spots though, so when I got there I looked up the road to see if I could see Lyn. I couldn’t, so started to head across the road here when BANG!

A mass of red flashed in front of me, and I suddenly felt an intense pain in my foot. A bus had hit my footplate. Had I been any further onto the crossing and I could easily have been killed. I had assumed the bus would stop for me, but it was going too fast.

What happened after that is a blur of police, paramedics, ambulances. Paul came with me to the hospital, where my left foot, throbbing with pain, was checked over and X-rayed. Luckily it wasn’t broken, only bruised. It hurt like hell, and still does. I felt such an idiot – I should have been more careful. More than anything, though, I felt lucky to be alive: had I been any further onto the road, the bus would have hit my side with full force, snd it would have been game over.