Saturday, 9 November 2013
I should've been at Blogcon!
All my bags are packed I'm ready to go (wasn't John Denver a tosser?!). This weekend I was all set for a trip to Blogcon. I had my train tickets booked and I was mentally there, but cruel Fate stepped in and banjo'd it. I've had an issue with my right knee for ages and, two years ago, was chalked up for an op to cut away all the ripped cartilage and clean out all the muck (I'm not sure you realy wanted to read that). As has become usual with the NHS, I simply dropped into limbo with occasional excuses proffered by the local ossie as to why I couldn't pass 'Go' and collect £200. It's a not very long, though pretty boring, story which ends with me under the knife last Friday.
Now, for those of you not from these parts, “last Friday” was 1st November, whereas the Friday just passed is “this Friday” and often used in the past tense, e.g. “That was this Friday just gone”. Should not to be confused with “this Friday” when referring to the coming Friday. It seems to be a device to ascertain whether or not you're paying attention. O.K.?
Right, so by yesterday I was hobbling still, but not hobbling as well as I thought I should be or well enough to make it anywhere further than maybe fifty yards or so and not to be standing around for more than a few minutes. So, any sustained movement was out. Not at all satisfactory because of the planned trip to Blogcon – did I mention that?
By the way, they gave me a brand new pair of those sawn off crutches, but I can't use them properly and they're too cumbersome to move with effectively. Instead I've been using my Dad's old walking stick (Circa 1972-ish). This is much handier and, when not in use, can be stowed inside your coat with the 'crook' of the stick hooked inside the arm hole. Well, I know what I mean.
About tea time last night (this is all real Northern stuff eh?) I got that familiar feeling in the nose and throat and then those good old watery eyes and a couple of hours later I'm about to joss it. Ergo, the waning dreams of making it to Nottingham other than by air ambulance were finally shot.
All this finds me still doing my Long John Silver impression (with more of an “Arrrrgh!' than an “Arrrrrr!”) and a snot factory on overtime. Oh yes, and if you haven't already picked up the thread, not at Blogcon . . . .
No flowers by request.