This week, I was gently fondled by a ginger chap who looked like James Blunt, wearing only boxer shorts. Me, not him. He had very soft hands. My bedroom smells of hot rubber too. It’s just possible that I may need to back-track slightly, just so this doesn’t sound at all weird. Over the last few years, and especially the last few months, I’ve had some back problems. Apart from looking a little like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and spending my entire time thinking I probably shouldn’t slouch so much, this has recently converted itself into pretty extreme pain. I won’t try and convince you I’m manly – pain isn’t good. That’s why it’s called “pain” and not “nice feeling like eating marshmallows on a sunny afternoon, whilst birds tweet gently”. It had become so debilitating, that trying to wash my feet in the shower made me look the winner of a gurning contest, with bonus squealing noises. Reluctantly, I visited the doctor, who referred me to hospital to see a physiotherapis...
Does what is says on the tin. Only its a blog. Not a tin. Confused yet? Me too. (twitter = @grumpyf1)