The dangers of forgetting your boots

Oh, dear.  I've had to send The Archdruid off to Milton Keynes General for someone to look at her foot.  She seems to have hurt it this morning.

You may remember that we had some problems with a Piper recently, and that the Archdruid got somewhat upset.  Well: he was back this morning.  Really rather early.  Really very, very early.  The Archdruid had decided to have a late Pouring Out of Beakers service to celebrate Osmund, Bishop of Salisbury's day.  She only announced the change late last night by putting a note up on the Moot House door on her way back from quite a late night with Mrs Hnaef, wine-tasting.  Although I thought that wine-tasting usually only inolved having a single sip, and not a couple of bottles each.  Anyway, when the Piper decided to have a pre-Pouring skirl an hour before the dawn, the Archdruid was less than happy, threw on some clothes, and went to kick the Piper's shins.  As is her wont.

But the Piper was prepared, and had got some shin-protectors on.  And not the usual type you get for hockey or football, but some "borrowed" from a local museum, which is presumably missing the bottom sections of a suit of armour.  And he'd put them under his socks to hide them.  All would have been fine if the Archdruid had been wearing her usual steel toe-capped boots, but in her hurry, she'd put on her slippers.

And so, after some choice invective which woke up the rest of the Community (those few who hadn't been roused by the Piper), followed by a triumphal skirl by the Piper, followed by yet more invective by the Archdruid, I commanded Young Keith to take the Archdruid to A & E.  I do hope none of their chaplains are around at this time in the morning: I don't think she's feeling very ecumenical today.