Last Friday, I am confronted by an angry fat man in a Butlin’s uniform on New Street’s main concourse:
Him: “You can’t bring your bike up the escalator sir”
Me: “It’s a bit early for all that existential shit isn’t it?”
Him: (Flumoxed): “Sorry?”
Me: “Well clearly, I am here, the bike is on the platform, I have clearly been transported by the moving walkway back there, therefore the physical evidence trumps your philosophical world view”
Him: “Er, no I mean it’s dangerous”
Me: “Damn Straight, walk up those stairs with this knee and there’s a serious possibility I’ll fall straight back down. Well done for letting me use the escalator”
It’s important at times like this to stride – or limp stride-aly – off with a enigmatic smile before the magic wears off.
Today, I’m in the Doctor’s surgery being un-diagnosed by the same newly qualified quack who had me down for malingering last time.
Her: “That’s odd, that knee really is very swollen, what do you think we should do about it?”
Me: “Well, it’s not me that’s spent seven years in Medical school and has access to google, so I’m kind of in your hands”
Three options present themselves apparently; 1) do nothing which has worked so well with my manky finger I was mad keen to try that again. 2) Pump myself full of sufficient anti-inflammatories to stun a small donkey or 3) try and un-retire the physio who sorted me out last time.
I’ve gone with 3) after being offered the reassuring advice that if things hadn’t improved in TWO OR THREE weeks, to come back. Assuming I can get my trousers on and the appendage in question has not taken on the size, texture and general flexibility of a melon.
The only conclusion one can reasonably draw is that the budget cuts are at work here. First don’t prescribe any drugs that might cost some actual money, and – phase 2 – be so entirely bloody useless to discourage further visits.and then rent the space out for CV writing workshops.
Wonky knee makes driving painful, walking a chore and riding pretty much fine until I stop. The latter is extremely vexing since I appear to have dug in enough this summer to dig out a decent level of fitness. Trails are still loads of fun and the ST4 is a bloody joy to ride. Hell, I’m even enjoying road riding, but this is entirely due to working out how much money I save swapping bike for car on my commute.
For that amount, I’d crawl naked over broken glass to get to work. Although I’ll wait until my knee is better first. Not that I’ll be bothering the Doctor, again after seeing her surreptitiously adding “Old Age and Decrepitude” to my list of symptoms.