Flat out

It’s been eight days since my last blogfessional. In that time, I am pleased to say that not a great deal has happened – which is a state of affairs that suits the enforced sofa dweller. However, I have, in fact, been up and about a fair amount, and reckon that I am averaging about a mile a day on my crutches, which I really hope will speed up my healing. The physio has even started me hobbling around the house with one crutch, which is terrifying, and quite painful. It also means that I wave my empty arm around like a dodo vainly attempting take-off. Sarah has hinted that I should now be able to carry things around. Only, of course, if the thing doesn’t mind being frenetically spun around. A cup of tea is clearly out of the question. (Though would be quite funny.)

Beyond spraying tea around when I’m on one crutch, my increased mobility on two has the added risk of exposing me to the world of shopping; a dangerous world to encounter when you have been off work for four months. I did succumb this week to the urge to buy a pair of sunglasses, but managed to establish a complicated justification involving the fact that it is rare to find a pair that don’t make me look like Hilda Ogden, and something about it being a good time of year to take advantage of their seasonal reduction. Desperate, really.

A big plus with my improving hobbling style was establishing that I could travel independently to my flat. The unfortunate thing is that my flat no longer represents the oasis of Bachelorhood that it once was. My trip was to see a builder. The flat flooded at about the same time I left hospital, and was subsequently attended to by a ‘drying’ company. Unfortunately, as I was in no fit state to kick arse, they failed to do their job right. Kicking an arse presents quite an interesting issue from a physiotherapy point of view. Would I be better off using my right leg, where I would struggle to gain velocity, but have a good deal of weight that I could bring to bear, or should I use my left, which would require me to balance on my bad leg – a skill I will have to re-learn?

I digress. But arse-kicking is an important skill to re-acquire, as it seems that every form of bureaucracy that I have encountered in the last four months would benefit from a little swift application of pressure to its vulnerable nether parts. Even the Red Cross have been rubbish, as due to their own paperwork failure, they assumed I should have returned their wheelchair two weeks before I had even picked it up in July. A harmless error, had they not kept my £40 deposit as a result. £40 which I could have taken from my benefit money, had the benefit office not failed to sort it out yet, as they sent me back my Doctor’s certificates by mistake, and then failed to tell me how to sort it out. Ah, the caring face of the welfare state. Shame the tax man isn’t so incompetent when it comes to asking for cash.

Back to my flat. Where I might be able to go, once it’s been rebuilt. It appears that the drying company not only dragged everything out by failing to work hard enough, fast enough, but that they have also unnecessarily removed bricks from the wall. Which is an interesting urge. ‘In my capacity as an insurance repairman, I think I’ll just remove a few bricks from this wall, to see what it does…’ Intriguing. So the builders have a job on, which they won’t be able to start for another few weeks. And in the meantime, my James Bond DVD collection is sitting on my sofa. Which isn’t the right way round at all. At least the water board seem to be taking the flooding seriously, and Dad has taken the opportunity to devise a water resistant front door. If he could extend the principle to include a resistance to junk mail and letters from the tax man, I reckon he could have quite a business opportunity.