Today I travelled to the premises of my osteopath in downtown Chippernam. I’ve been there before during times of great suffering but on this occasion I went because the small of my back had merely been a trifle twingey for about a week and, although it was something I wouldn’t normally consider to be worth worrying about, I didn’t want the oul’ spinal column packing up on me completely midway through my struggle to conquer an Ande or an alpaca.
The osteopathy lady is a tiny woman of enormous strength, she has a friendly persona and she’s most pleasing on the eye. She beat the living shit out of me this morning, making my arms, legs, ribs and neck glow with the searing pain but she certainly sorted out the poor aching bones in my back. She also interrogated me at length about my forthcoming trip, expressing a modicum of envy, and she chastised me because the skin on my heels was a bit dry and cracked. In response I told her it wasn’t too late for her to decide to come with me if she wanted and that I had a tube of heel balm at home but neither statement seemed to impress. Perhaps if I’d told her that I had a big box full of tubes of heel balm at home she might have been tempted to accompany me on my Latin American escapade.
I sometimes wish (but not very hard, just in case my wish comes true) that my back would give me more trouble than it does as it would present me with more opportunities to visit lovely Bonecrusher Dawn and because I enjoy telling people that I have paid money to a woman to remove most of my clothes and subject me to physical cruelty. But, joking aside, she’s worth every penny.
This evening I briefly spoke on the telephone to my second born child about our disappointing negligence of the availability of tickets for the forthcoming Olympic football tournament taking place on home soil. Terrified by tales of tons of time wasted on the world wide web by other prospective Olympic ticket purchasers, I was a bit wary of getting dragged into the procedure myself. One lady who I heard talking on a radio phone-in programme a few weeks back had said that buying Olympic tickets was such an ordeal that it should be made into an Olympic event itself. I gave it a whirle and, miraculously, it took me less than four minutes to register on the official website and buy two tickets to see Brazil versus Egypt at the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff in July . . . another trip out of England to look forward to and a chance to be involved in the London Olympics without the chore of having to go to London. Woo hoo!
Incidentally, I know for certain that it took less than four minutes to buy my tickets because I completed the whole shooting match during injury time as I listened to the commentary of the Premier League ‘decider-ish’ on the radio. The most important Scum derby in history ended Manchester City 1 Manchester United 0 . . . hurroo!
Glory Glory Leeds United haven’t got another game for three months, by the way. I’ll start writing about them again as soon as I have managed to forget about the season that has just ended (badly). If it wasn’t for Brazil versus Egypt in the Limpix (a Leeds word) and the inevitability of Ireland taking the Euro 2012 Championship by storm in Poland and Ukraine I would have written off football completely until next August.
Yesterday I didn’t travel anywhere. I was supposed to travel to Badminton to do a twelve miler with the Chippernam Chapter of the Hell’s Ramblers but it rained cats’ piss and dogs’ piss all day so it was called off before I even got out of bed. Well it might well have gone ahead for all I know but, although I have strode forth through great extremes of weather during the last few months, it didn’t sound like much fun to me so I had an extra hour’s kip and then spent the rest of the day doing my Peru packing. How do you pack an alpaca? By the early evening the whole kitbag kit and caboodle was sorted . . . with thirteen days to spare . . . surely a world record. Impressed?