So there’s good news, always first. And that is that my dodgy hip (I know you’ve been really concerned; I can tell by all your messages of worry, support and love! Yeah, right) is slowly but surely on the mend. I can think about wearing left shoes once more. No more hopping when it rains. I can get that shoe on which is massive progress, even without the steroid jab suggested by Dr Needle-in-your-fucking-leg. I have the power to self-heal. Ohmmmmmm…

And then, in a really great result, following my latest, NHS, post-60, compulsory ‘shit-on-a-stick’ test, I won! I don’t have bowel cancer. And apparently, reading between the lines, I was so good they want to repeat it in 2 years. So that’s great. And great that we have such things thrust upon us. #morescanning

But then it all went to shit. Not ‘on a stick’ this time, but metaphorically. As I claw my way heroically and stoically (whatever Mel may say) from orthopaedic woes, as I am declared to have perfect poo, the worst possible scenario comes to light.

I get a… Man Cold!!!

And that, as any man knows (women seriously have no idea of such suffering and hence can’t properly empathise or understand the sheer debilitation caused by this horrendous virus) that is a terrible condition. Terrible. There is no real known cure; it’s a virus and hence just has to ‘run its course’. But the symptoms can be mitigated somewhat. First and foremost by tea. Strong, sweet and very very frequently placed before the invalid. Also, although paracetamol doesn’t really work, watching rugby does!! It has an amazingly curative effect, sadly that only lasts 80 minutes (plus ‘red clock’ time) but with sufficient tea deliveries, it definitely improves body and soul.

Medical advice strongly recommends AGAINST the planting of hundreds of winter flowers we bought last week, whilst under the effects of any Man-cold symptoms. Unfortunately the ‘doctor’s note’ to this effect Mel thought to be fraudulent. As it was written on the back of last week’s electric bill. You have to try.

Garden looks fab. Rugby was fabber. I’m still bunged up. But ‘fighting it’ like a hero.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx