Probably Shouldn’t Have Walked

Oh dear. Oh deary, deary me. Last night, even though my spinal region is knackered, I fancied a little walk, so I decided I'd just go once around the medium-sized block (you'll recall that from my house there's a small block, a medium block and a big block, like Goldilocks's bears, and these are laid out in handy increments of half a mile, one mile and three miles). James needed some milk, so I could call in at the shop on my way back – James drinks a lot of whole milk, and he's as thin as a very thin thing.

Anyway, I set off thinking that I should be able to manage the medium-sized block without too much difficulty. Matthew came with me for giggles because it's quite funny to watch me walk when I'm in tremendous pain, apparently. Git. I knew there wouldn't be much for me to show you other than empty roads and a couple of streets you've seen lots of times already, so I took this one of the badge on the back of my car. It's the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Praise Him and His Noodly Appendage. Hell, my car needs a wash.

By the time we'd got to the end of the road, I felt like this tree. A sad and roughly textured thing, cut down in its prime. Also, I was leaning at approximately the same angle but to the opposite side. I don't know why I think this, but this tree, I think, is a witch. It looks like a very ancient crone to me, and it's definitely a 'she'. And she represents my ruptured disc.

'We should probably just go the short way, Mother,' says Matthew. But like an idiot, I decided I could manage a full mile, so we pushed on.

We made it a couple of hundred yards up the road and I realised I'd made a terrible error, but the sunset was looking spectacular and that was nice. 

Travelling at the pace of an injured and drunk frog, occasionally shuffling sideways into my son and sometimes stopping altogether, I completely forget about you all and the fact that I always take a ton of photos on my walks. In fact, I forgot altogether that I was walking and in the end I realised that I wouldn't make it home at all and that this was a very sorry and sad way to go, not to mention completely uncool. I fantasised about someone stopping by the side of the road with a horse and cart, the cart stuffed with soft duvets and huge pillows, and a gigantic person lifting me onto this nest very gently and taking me home. They would leave the cart with me in it on the grass verge outside my house, and I would sleep there until my back was better.  

There was a socially distanced queue at the shop, so I got to have a rest while Matthew waited and then went in to get James's milk. He's a good lad, our Matthew.

I decided that I need to have a few days of not walking for my back to get better. Keeping moving is one thing; being an idiot and making things worse is quite another! So I am not walking this evening – I will be lying on the couch and reading my book, pretending I'm a battle-injured Viking shield maiden because that's how I roll.

This is this week's book, and it's a cracker!

Until soon, friends. Don't worry about me – this happens allllll the time! 

WQ