Elbow (not broken) and other tales

Having a broken leg can lead to interesting and diverse conversations

At lunch last week one of my colleagues was relating a tale about her little boy, who is about 7 or 8 I think. Anyway, she was telling him off in the supermarket for some misdemeanour when the little lad wailed back loudly "No please mummy, please don't break my other leg!" Karen said you could hear the waves of silence radiating around the store. Wonderful killer line, for which even under severe later cross-examination he refused to reveal his source. 

And that story led on to this one from another colleague. His sons' primary school thought it would be a good idea to raise money for comic relief if all the little ones told their favourite jokes in public to the parents. Of course, this was always going to be excruciating torment as the world's worst jokes are re-told by the worst joke tellers. But also of course not all little kids really understand jokes. So one little lad who had obviously heard the usual formula of "What do you get if you cross....etc", as meaning it must be a joke  related what he obviously heard at home

Qn    "What do you get if you don't eat your breakfast?"

As    "A slap"

Cue much embarrassed sniggering, and no doubt just embarrassed silence from his parents.

Now here of course is a situation where being a city lawyer helps. Mark was too busy to be able to attend the two hour torture session of juvenile humour. Oh, did I say 2 hours? Only if you had an older child, as the really little ones had their own show before hand. So a suitably wide spread of offspring and you could enjoy 4 hours. Unfortunately, Mark's wife doesn't work and they have 3 sons. I believe she is entering therapy now...

Even as a kid I can remember how awful other kids shows were. Especially the violin recitals. Let's face it, in these straitened financial times, we shouldn't be lobbing expensive cruise missiles into Libya. Just parachute the under 8s strings orchestra into Gaddafi's compound. See how long it takes a violin rehearsal to winkle out the old bloodsucking dictator. But then that namby pamby lot at the UN would never sanction such a thing. Effective, but too cruel and no doubt against the Geneva Convention.

Just got back from very nice weekend with friends in Cheshire. Nice to be fed and watered and generally pampered.  But hard to resist eating and drinking too much, especially as it was their daughter's birthday. (Worrying that she was happy for me to crash her birthday weekend.) At least my present seemed to go down well, a sapphire necklace (well it was her 16th and so I hardly felt I could get away with another Linkin' Park cd) BUT down was the operative word. As she tried to put it on she lost grip on the whole thing and it disappeared entirely down her cleavage. Couldn't have scripted it better for a Carry On film. There just isn't a graceful way to retrieve a delicate piece of jewellery from there.

Anyway, I made it back last night in time to get a cab to the O2 to see Elbow. Very well organised and helpful there. Got a lift up to the first tier and was able to swap my ticket for one in the back row - so I didn't need to go down any steps. Cost me a small fortune in cab fares, but then to put it into perspective, the lady who sat next to me had flown in from Portugal especially for the gig! (and her companion had just broken her leg - yes we were in crocks row.) But brilliant concert and Guy Garvey was on top form as genial front man. Can't believe the band I used to see in pretty small venues has sold out a 20,000 arena 2 nights running. But fair play, their "overnight" success has taken them 20 years.

Battling on

Ok 5 weeks now on crutches and getting well beyond a joke. Now my right shoulder hurts so much I am struggling to use the crutches. So need to be able to stand on my left foot soon before other parts of me give out in sympathy. The good news is that my wound has healed "beautifully" according to the consultant. Yeah, but enough of the aesthetics I just want to be able to walk.

The friends with whom I had been in Cornwall came round on Saturday to take me out which was a welcome break from the sofa and remote control. But in order to cheer up their eldest we decided on a trip to the cinema to see Battle: Los Angeles. A real teenage boy choice of film, and not a very discerning teenager at that. Good camerawork on a truly awful script and plot. Was rather like watching someone playing a war game on the X-box but with better graphics and worse plot and dialogue. Really just a hackneyed war plot where tiny band of courageous fighters beat vastly superior forces all on their own. Has been done a million times before, but always better. And I have to say I found the getting around on crutches really tiring. Far harder than battling intergalactic enemy invasion, or so it seemed.

Got cab back by pulling rank on young mother with small child in pushchair. Sorry my need definitely greater than hers. Classic old style London cabbie. Told me he once refused to take Ken Livingstone (ex-mayor of London for those overseas followers unfamiliar with local politics) on a  journey. Ken said he was obliged to take him provided the destination was within Greater London. "But I can refuse if I have good reason to do so" he replied. "And I do. I find you repulsive." Not sure if true story but I liked it anyway.

Boring

Ok, I have to admit I am thoroughly fed up with my broken leg now. While its nice that I have had a fair few visitors that I wouldn't otherwise have, the inability to get out any distance is just so frustrating. My furthest trip, last Monday to the barbers, was probably no more than 300 metres, but I was so tired getting back that I tripped over when approaching the front step of my house. Fortunately a passer-by was on hand to get me upright again, or I would have been left sprawling like a tortoise on its back. So I think that tells me my limitations on crutches. And my shoulders and hands ache from bearing my weight. I dread the climb upstairs every night, which feels like the Eiger. I have given up the approved method of going up with one hand on the banister and one on a crutch because while safer, I end up putting too much strain on my left shoulder. And if I wrench that I am done for. The other "safe" method of going up in reverse on one's bottom still leaves the awful ending of having to get upright at the top and pirouetting on one leg to face the right way. So I resort to going up using both crutches which is fine provided I concentrate really hard and lean slightly forward. But it all does make me think that when I get really old I will head for a bungalow. Or a flat with a lift.

Have returned to work which fortunately does have a lift, and a canteen to feed me, and a lovely trainee to make me coffee, so really is easier than home. They have even gone through a personal emergency evacuation plan with me (a "Peep"). Would feel really miffed though if there was a fire now when there hasn't been one in the previous 25 years. I get a mini-cab in and out every day, driven by a collection of near and middle-eastern cab drivers. An interesting fact in London is that every mini-cab driver seems to be from Eastern Europe or the Middle-East (I have had Persians to Albanians this week) whereas every black cab driver in London is a cockney, or as near as one can get to one  these days.

I guess the aircast I am wearing, which I can take off at night or when sitting with my feet up or to shower, is a great improvement on the plaster casts. At least I don't suffer from the awful itching people used to complain about. But it is a chore strapping it on and off. And glad I am covered by insurance as the invoice for it was £150. Am sure there must be some Filipino 12 year-old who would be willing to churn them out for £20.

Still was lovely to see one of my ex-colleagues yesterday with his baby. Quite a laugh really. I had some difficulty imagining him as a Dad, and the visit didn't really help. It was the first time he had been allowed out alone with his 4 month old son, and his wife kept calling and texting with tips as to how to look after him. And I could imagine her concern at letting her little treasure out with him, knowing how clumsy he was at work. I have been on the end of a pint spilt all the way down my trousers (and a full one at that) and recall him spilling a full cup of coffee down his shirt at work (not talking of minor staining here - whole shirt looked like used parchment). And I have to confess I had much more success at feeding the little lad with a bottle than his dad did. Well I have a lot of experience with babies now if I think about it, even if none are my own. Anyway, he didn't really cry during visit which is some sort of result. Nor did the baby. But I won't be taking up his career suggestion of becoming a "Manny".

So, stitches should be coming out on Tuesday and then hopefully a better idea of how much longer before I can put some weight on my left foot.