The gotcha gremlins were out in force last week.
Not content that I’m leaping six foot in the air like a demented flapping chicken due to a trapped sciatic nerve, I also ended up with a bump on my bonce.
Eee folks, those of you who’ve suffered with sciatica – that excruciating pain in bum, thigh and calf – will sympathise with me.
Anyway, by last Wednesday, having done my ‘yoga for sciatica’ exercises, it was a bit better so I thought I’d sashay down to Southsea in all the stormy weather.
As I loaded my shopping into Jemima Jolopy’s ( my motor) boot an enormous gust of wind took the lid up, and then, crashed it down on my head – Aarrgghh!
Apologies to anyone in the street at the time, my language (not what one expects from a privately-educated convent schoolgirl) spewed forth like a dockie dear.
I was advised for more than 20 minutes on the phone by NHS 111, and they were absolutely fantastic.
Big bump on bonce has gone now, and I’m okay.
I could have done with some homeopathic ‘rescue remedy’ at the time, but what I did have was my pals to giggle with.
I was gassing on the blower to Trucinda la Bomba, whose darling hubby has diabetes.
Two years ago he had half his foot amputated. This year he had a below knee amputation on his other leg.
I’m sending out lots of love and sympathy when Trucinda bursts out laughing and says: ‘As I said to him, I don’t have to worry about you divorcing me, you’re leaving me bit by bit.’
Then I read the courageous story of Chris Manns – wrestler Fearless Flatliner – in The News. He had surgery for ulcerative colitis and spent years with an ileostomy bag, similar to a colostomy bag. It reminded me of when I visited him in QA hospital in 2009.
I’d minced in, dressed in a French maid’s pinny, rubber gloves, feather duster, and a note pinned on me ‘Poo Patrol’.
And then, after I’d read that and still nursing my bruised head, my neighbour, author and criminologist Christopher Berry Dee, informed me that pink hard hats are available.
You gotta have pals to laugh with.