You know you’re getting old when you go to bed feeling fiddle-like and wake up injured.
As a big landmark birthday looms, the one where life is supposed to begin, my body has begun to fall apart.
Earlier in the week a muscle in my back went into spasm; if someone heated up a Philips screwdriver over a naked flame and then thrust it between my shoulder, blades, I’d imagine the sensation would have felt the same.
Writhing with pain, the only solution I could think of was to ask my wife to walk gingerly across my back to snap something into place.
Three chiropractor sessions later and I’ve been persuaded that spinal manipulation is best left to the trained.