I sorted out which t-shirts will go on over the cast this morning, and there's more than I hoped, so I can just layer up t-shirts for torso warmth. The next layer up is a headache, though. One of my tops (the Sigur Ros hoodie I ordered that was two sizes too big) can be worn one-sleeve, Napolean style, but even that won't do up across the front. Also it looks... strange in profile. Like a huge mutant bosom. I had odd memories of having seen female friends wearing cardigans with wrappy bits, bat wings and half sleeves, though, so I nipped into Primark on the way to my Doctor*'s with high hopes. Alas, all the unusually-shaped knitwear was the colour of muesli and tears (presumably some purchaser's overreaction to the credit crunch), making their saggy racks of swags, frills and fiddly buttons look even more piteous and idiotic. Little Orphan Annie with her problem places covered with distracting frills she couldn't afford to dye.
Back-up plan, then; goth arm warmers. Tiger Lily had replaced theirs with corset gloves, so I resorted to Claire's, eventually came out with a pair of sparkly children's legwarmers, long grey woollen fingerless gloves (more credit crunch chic I suppose) and tattoo sleeves. Yes, tattoo sleeves. Now I know it's the 80s.
I may be looking a little odd for the next month or so.
*Who gave me some trendy NSAIDs for the pain and a four-week sick note.