I am not in the gym.
Due to having ignored all knee-related advice I am almost completely immobile. I can just about creep around the Library Gardens, slowly.
I have not run anywhere since Number One Daughter said that I shouldn’t, so I thought I might have a little try on our walk this morning. I have got a secret ambition to be able to run all the way up to the top, without little breath-restoring gaps in which I walk, or actually, stagger, whilst gasping desperately.
I am not telling anybody about this because it is one of those air-castle things, as improbable as getting my hair to look tidy.
It was a slippery sort of morning, the birds are back with us for the first time for days, and singing their hearts out. I like to listen to the birds, although have a suspicion that they are not making a nice noise really. From what I can tell their communication is something similar to that of young men outside nightclubs, and consists of pornographic propositions to attractive females and threats of unreasonable violence to any other male in the area. I am not quite sure why we are supposed to find this relaxing to overhear.
Also, since they are the last remaining shadows of the might of the dinosaurs, I have occasionally wondered why Hollywood portrayals, such as Jurassic Park etc, invariably add a soundtrack of roaring to their terrifyingly oversized raptors. As far as I can see, a chirp might be more like it, or possibly a cluck.
There are no birds on the fell tops at the moment. Apart from the sound of the wind it is completely silent. It is nice to have this space in a day. It is growing on me. I did not like it at all when I first started walking up there, because of the mud and the cold and the aching muscles, which are not a combination generally leading to merriment. I am enjoying it now. It is nice to start every day with a scramble and a mountain-top view of the world.
It was not easy to do this morning, because of the wet ice thickly coating all of the paths. I ran a bit, and then slipped and slid and grabbed tree branches at the last minute until my knee was throughly jarred and twisted and squeaking rebelliously.
By the time I got back down to the village I was limping ostentatiously and feeling sorry for myself. Knowing that it was my own fault did not improve matters.
I went to the bank and paid the weekend’s takings into the overdraft, and then did some cleaning. By the time I got around to cooking Jamie Oliver’s Cauliflower Risotto for Mark’s dinners I could hardly stand up.
I had saved the risotto for the Archers and the Afternoon Play, and so dragged a chair across so that I could cook and listen to the radio and rest one leg all at the same time. I stood on one leg and rested the sore one on the chair. This helped a bit.
I could not face taking the dogs out anywhere again, but it did not matter, because Mark can usually be persuaded to do this: except he rang up and said that he was going to be late, so I had to take them anyway. I got halfway around the Library Gardens and wondered if I ought to call a taxi.
In the end I just took some drugs. This helped a lot.
I am sitting in the taxi wearing a support bandage.
I hope it is better by morning.
