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.