Tuesday, 27 October 2015

Auld age, Chapter 561

 I'm waiting for a physiotherapy appointment through the NHS, and the doctor encouraged me to get straight on to Benenden, and tell them I'd have months to wait.  Benenden set up a chat with a physiotherapist by telephone last week, and she has given me a self-managed regime and a long elastic band.  A few days in, I think I'm getting some benefit - but it could just be oenotherapy-induced euphoria.  Anyway, as I thought, the diagnosis is one of 'early degenerative change', and the advice is to carry on with the physio, using over-the-counter analgesics and/or anti-inflams as required.  Next, a ride through the MRI tunnel, to which I look forward not one bit.  But I'm grateful to have only such minor annoyances.  And being the age I am, I even get a free flu jab next week.

Some wonderful bright days in amongst the autumnal gloom.  A neighbouring street is lined with beautiful autumn colour, and our back garden is rapidly filling up with leaves from next door's poxy oak tree.  The front garden is full of silver birch leaves from across the road, and I dare say we're inflicting our cherry and willow leaves on Gwen and Malcolm. 

Seduced by a too-good-to-be-true offer from one of the seedsmen, I sent for three dozen pot luck plug-plant perennials.  They came back with a gravely boring selection, but I've potted them up to over-winter and grow on in the sitooterie.  Be warned: I may be looking for homes for yarrows, verveins, foxgloves and worse come the spring.

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