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Tuesday, 21 June 2011

Run For Your Life

Let this be a warning to you all. Sport can be painful.

I wasn't in the mood for a game of squash but as this was the 1500th tie (over a 34 year period) I thought it would be churlish to cancel.

London, the jewel in the crown. A wonder of commerce, the arts and industry. A place that draws seekers of beauty and thrills from around the globe - and beyond.

Unfortunately, no one has told Transport for London this. We had our line upgraded a while back. It's difficult to pin down the exact date this happened since the difference between the delays, cancellations and line closures due to the old line cracking up and the delays, cancellations and line closures due to the modernization is  impossible to discern. Not to mention the delays, cancellations and line closures while they were upgrading.

Still, we do have a line which runs almost from my house in Walthamstow to the squash court in Victoria. This journey normally takes 30 minutes - although "normally" is a misnomer; "sometimes" is possibly more accurate.  Today was no exception - 45 mins, if it was an hour. What with the delay, the heat, the crowded carriage and someone's arm pit which could stun at 100 paces, I was not in the best mood for a game of speed, skill and stamina - am I ever!

I won the first game, 9 -7, lost the next three and won the next two 9-0, 9-1. The decider was electric...well it would have been had I not pulled up short after hearing something twang around my ankle (no, not my knicker elastic).

"I'm sorry old chap, I seem to have inadvertently amputated my left leg below the knee, do you think we could hold over  this game  until another day?"

"Righty ho, old Sport. Spiffing game all the same, bit of a bad show - you being ahead and all that - best call it a draw. Are you sure you can get to the changing rooms?"

The sports centre were fine about the trail of  blood across their newly polished court, and promised to post on the rest of my leg  to me later. In the meantime I painfully, and I thought beautifully acted, hauled myself into the showers, out of the centre, into the pub and on the bus to the station and home.

At home I phoned the missus, apologising for not being able shop at Costco today due to a double amputation. She said "Put some frozen peas on it pet". Not having any peas I got the next best thing: an ice pack and it remained there until I realised that I couldn't feel most of my leg,  frost bite having taken hold.

I have to say I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I'm off to the hospital tomorrow to see the consultant about the pain in my bum, as a result of the three steroid injections he jabbed into my Gluteus Maximus Decimus Meridius, six weeks ago. I don't want him messing about with me tendons.

Anyway, I don't think I've snapped anything, just a twisted muscle, and a glass of wine (or possibly two) and a slice of lemon and polenta cake should put matters right.

Will I ever be able to play again? Who knows, who cares?  I feel a Shergar moment coming on.


Steve said...

On the bright side there is always the paralympics.

RubberCrutch said...

Steve: you're a card---haha!

Marginalia: your writing seems to improve when you're in excruciating pain. There's some very Wodehouse bits in the middle, there.

Marginalia said...

Thanks Steve, loo brushes to you.

Marginalia said...

Dear RubberCrutch. Wodehouse, the only comic writer who has had me laughing out loud in public. He was/is a blessing.

Don't encourage Steve, not that he needs any. Just read his lovely posts at