Barging into the house earlier this evening, I bypassed the traditional social convention of enquiring to the wellbeing of my family by melodramatically declaring, “I’ve got a huge lump!“. My wife reacted with her normal stoicism of all things medically Al shaped and wondered aloud if it may be a reenactment of the first Alien film. She sounded worryingly keen that this may indeed be the case.
Undeterred I stripped off and proferred up the spiky shoulder, now somewhat at odds with its’ previously identical twin. “Look, Look, it’s got a great bit bloody lump in it. A mouse could ski down that or maybe someone has grafted a second nose on” I whined while indicating the offending conical aberration. Stripped down of a thin veneer of concern, Carol’s analysis was that it was far too late to do anything about it, and if it was in some way buggered, it was unlikely any medical professional would recommend a treatment of traversing the Atlas mountains with it.
That’s me told then.
The story behind the spike began earlier in the day when – for the first time – I luxuriated in the joy of being able to raise both arms to shoulder height. I chose the communal changing rooms to attempt this previously eye watering position having warmed up by removing all my clothes. As I was giving it the full De-Caprio “I’m the king of the world” stance, the security guard wandered in for a slash.
My rhetorical barked question “What the fuck is going on with that bloody thing then?” was met with a laconic “hey man, I wouldn’t worry about that little thing when you’ve got at least one other little thing that looks a bit more serious. And smaller“. I’m assuming he was referring to my rock hard abdominals or some such bodily item.
After ten days since an attempt to burrow single handedly to the earths’ crust, there has been some improvement. I can now open any doors marked pull in an ambidextrous manner but those offering entry via a simple push are right hand drive only. I can select second gear, but cannot easily turn the radio on unless I’m prepared to use my nose.
Most importantly, I can just about ride a mountain bike in a wonky manner (so no real change there then) but turning left is now a mental and physical issue. This could be a problem in Morocco where rocky cliffs offer a thousand vertical feet of alternative trail for those not able to hold a line.
I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m taking sufficient duct tape to be strapped to the bar. Whether that’s the handlebar or the nearest bar selling anything sticky and alcoholic, we’ll just have to wait and see.