A gipsy wedding cortège passing by our house; the guests stopping at each door to offer us drinks and sweet bread and wish the young couple many happy years together.
In a hurry, I was running towards the paved street to catch a glimpse of the bride when I slipped.
My left knee hit the pavement.
I remember my grandmother applying toothpaste on the wound.
Submitted by MariaButunoi, a writer and freelance journalist from Gloucestershire. Visit her website for writing and poetry, or follow her on Twitter here: @MariaButunoi