Fucking Pussy Willow

Only yesterday I was thinking that I was overdue for a fall.
I was accompanying affable despot Jason to Peter V's funeral and marvelled that I negotiated the Church steps and pews without actually bumping into something. It's a rarity that I accomplish any outing without some sort of mishap.
The Church was busy and full of people which was lovely for the family, but the vicar, an elderly lady who looked as though she had never laughed in her life, refused to breathe any injection of spirit into the service, which was a shame. Subdued by the atmosphere Jason and I giggled like schoolboys on the way home as we swapped ideas for an " interesting" send off. He , being a fan of Jack the Ripper ( !) thought a " street urchin " theme would be suitable with begger boys at the church door and Auntie Gladys dressed up as the old tart Catherine Widdows .
I preferred a more mysterious affair with an impeccably dressed woman with an opaque veil sat alone on a back pew, holding a single red rose.
Anyhow I digress.
As I told you that I thought I was overdue for a tumble ...and today I had one ....and I blame the Gaynor The Mad Organist for it.
She had made it known to the Prof that she needed some pussy Willow and obviously hinted to him that I was the girl to get it for her. This morning, on the Gop paths, I went off piste  to search for some  and caught the back of my trackie bottoms on a particularly robust bramble branch.
As my underpants " twanged" , I lost my footing and bounced merrily perhaps five feet down a bank loosing a shoe and pulling one entire leg out of my trackie bottoms.
Not only did I bruise my dignity, but I thought I had indeed ruptured myself and so limped home for a hot bath and a body inspection.