OK, so it’s not a great play on words, but I have been listening to the Great Punster Ian Mc Millan, and if your knee felt like mine has been feeling you’d be pleased you could still laugh. Is that self-pitying enough? Bear with me.
My left knee is my good knee. It has been the dependable one since I bashed my right knee in 1993 and spilt the meniscus, cue lots of pain, gradual onset of arthritis, and a sick note for life saying I must not run. Although of course I have run, usually for the bus, but to vary things, sometimes it has been for the train.
Not at the moment. My left knee started to grumble that it had been doing the lion’s share for nearly twenty-three years and it wasn’t happy. I’ve learned to listen to it, to anticipate when my days are likely to make it cranky and take painkillers in advance. It’s been pretty grumbly recently. Though intermittently. It can be fine one day, then feel like a piece of wood has been wedged in it the next. In my abortive efforts to field MasterB from catching the baby wren, I think I wrenched it, so the last ten days both front and back of my knee have hurt, and I’m getting pains running from ankle to hip. My work means I am on my feet a lot, so there’s not been much chance to rest.
Today took me to a reference library for some research. I was a bit stiff when I left in the late afternoon, but on the whole I thought my knee had benefitted from a quiet day. The lower deck of the bus I got home was full, so I climbed the stairs. Everything was fine and dandy until I was nearly home. Shortly before my stop, I got up and started to go down the stairs. Suddenly the bus lurched and my left knee took the impact. I gritted my teeth in pain and said “ouch” loudly enough for people to look at me. All the nerves in my knee were screaming. Then the bus lurched again. By the time I reached the pavement my short walk home seemed like a marathon.
I’m sitting on the floor at the moment and everything feels alright. I hope it’s going to stay that way, but I so nearly didn’t go to hear and see Ian McMillan and Luke Carver Goss performing as part of Southwark’s Rhyme and Reason season. And that would have been awful as it was a fab gig by two warm and witty performers, even if the lard references didn’t appeal. Apostrophe Amnesty Day found its mark as I am one of those who winces at misplaced apostrophes. We chuckled, we belly-laughed, we sang.
This may give you an idea.
It was at Dulwich Library, where the local demographic is a bit more refined than here in Sunny Walworth, though I noticed a few outsiders like myself; Mr and Mrs Steve from Coldharbour Lane, some women from Herne Hill. I mean some of them don’t even live in Southwark. Last week I saw Little Machine with my ex niece-in-law at Canada Water Library. She lives in Brighton, aka Southwark-on-Sea.
Ian McMillan has almost agreed to perform when our local library on the Walworth Road reopens sometime in the next millennium.
I shall be there. Who knows, I may have knee replacements by then. Or perhaps just a stick.