No ghosts, witches or zombies were spotted on the way to the health centre today. Inside though, it was harder to be sure.
Not in the physiotherapy department of course where the staff are all lovely. And indeed good at their stuff as I was stretched, pulled, squeezed and manipulated until the root of the trouble was discovered: a fine blend of increasing age and avoidable injury.
I now have to stand on one leg and pull a big rubber band backwards and forwards four times a day. The lassie assured me that the one legged thing was necessary. I’m not so sure, it feels like it’s either a prank or a punishment. I probably deserve both.
We’ll see what happens, I’ve had so many injuries that I’ve left behind like a sneeze in the wind but this one is clinging on annoyingly, like a scrap of sticky tape on the heel of your shoe walking around town. You want to get rid of it, but it looks manky and you don’t want to touch it, so you try to get it off by standing on the end of it with the toe of your other foot where it sticks just as securely, but now it’s sticking out the front of your shoe like the scabby tongue of rabid hound that’s lying exhausted in the sun just having fruitlessly chased a taxi down the road for a mile.
Lost my place now. Anyway, it’s a shoulder thing, not a knee thing. We don’t talk about knees here.
Turns out two of the lassies in the department are from Belfast which was handy as I’ll be there in a few weeks on my way to The Mournes. They know the roads there, the trails to walk, where to park and even where to go after a day on the hill. I’ll take a notebook on my next appointment.