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. Continue reading