Not the best week I’ve ever had; work has been better (although from a fullness of glass perspective it has also been worse) and frustratingly, I tweaked my back on Monday morning, simply by bending down to stroke the dog we were looking after.
It was the smallest movement (it was a big dog), but it bloody hurt and really wasn’t the ideal way to start a day that involved driving to and from Newcastle as well as a couple of meetings that shouldn’t have been uncomfortable, but were... very...
I took ibuprofen and paracetamol – together – but they didn’t work. I was offered various other pills that ened in “ol” or “eine” but declined on the basis that silent bravery was a marginally better than an unscheduled hospital visit.
I have occasionally suffered from a bad back, probably caused by a general lack of fitness – that and not warming up properly before stroking a dog. Most other injuries I’ve sustained have been on the cricket field, although I was lucky that none were particularly serious – a cracked rib from landing on a ball after spilling what would have been a spectacular one-handed catch being the most painful.
I did make two hospital visits as a result of cricket-related injuries, both curiously to my right wrist from stupidly trying to field the ball off my own bowling. Those who know me well will realise I rarely got anything in the way of a fast-moving cricket ball.
Happily, there were no breaks, just damaged tendons and bad bruising (which in fairness did extend from wrist to elbow) respectively – I left hospital in a sling after the former, promptly took the sling off and played that afternoon. I guess that’s what you do as an amateur sportsman... and I guess that’s why most of my joints now laugh at me when I consider any sort of exercise.
Anyway, the weekend beckons... I will have wine... it will be in the fridge... and I might just ask Elaine if she’ll bend down and reach it for me. You just can’t be too careful when you get to my age!
All my own work... almost.