Then to add injury to, er, MOAR injury; spent last night on a mattress on the floor at Schloß von Brandenburg, in a room full of Things freshly liberated from a storage unit over there ////. Mr Larrington's toes did not expect to find a sturdy wooden shelf on the floor, leading to Mr Larrington sprawled across the said mattress like the remains of a Chinese weather balloon. With an already-dodgy shoulder taking the brunt of the impact.
“Aaaah, FUCK!” said Mr Larrington, the words coming easily from force of habit.