crutchwork

It took me a while to track this photo down. This is Dr. Ilizarov. The man who realised that with the cunning application of the bicycle spoke, people's legs could be saved from the operating theatre's floor. Obviously a great man. However, when you are entirely at the whim of the piece of ironwork he invented, you cannot be blamed for pointing out the passing resemblance he shows to Groucho Marx. Or how he looks as if he has just stepped out of the kitchen of his thriving bakery business.

However, life is looking up today, as the aching from my fall is subsiding, and I have been perfecting my crutch technique. In fact, I'm quite proud of it. Obviously, this would seem a strange boast 48 hours after I fell on my arse on a stretch of level ground, but I'm not referring to the use of a pair of crutches as a means of propulsion. In fact, the humble crutch becomes an extremely versatile tool in the hands of the sofa bound. It can switch the ight on and off, drag a paperback to within reach, or act as a rudimentary first line of defence for a toddler determined to climb on your frame. I have also used my crutch to kill spiders. Humanely, obviously. To turn the pages of a newspaper. And to rescue the remote control when your partner has left you alone in the room with the television showing endless repeats of 'Most Haunted'. Today, though, was my virtuoso moment. It took me 30 mins, resulted in backstrain, and was of limited point, but I managed to use my crutch to put a sock on. Not an insignificant feat when you are alone in the house, wearing a pair of shorts, and the temperature is starting to drop.

If you at all doubt the triumph that I felt, give it a try with a couple of broomsticks. Just allow yourself a fair while. And you may, of course, decide that your time could be better spent.