grumpyf1

There are a lot of important things happening in the world right now. But you’re probably fed up hearing about the BBC being in crisis, Police and Crime Commissioner elections, and whose eating what in a jungle. I think I may be able to help here, by being significantly selfish, and updating you on the status of my dodgy back. I knew you’d be thrilled. The numerous message of support (back support?) showed how much you were all enthralled by my previous column regarding my spinal woes back in August. Back(!) then I’d had my first encounter with my physiotherapist , the Ginger James Blunt, and over the ensuing 10 sessions, my exercise routine has changed significantly, but stayed well within the interesting area that can best be summed up as “Oo-er – that looks a bit rude!”. I have also spent some time looking like a particularly rubbish hedgehog, whilst undergoing acupuncture. I think it was pretty clear that it had hit the spot when I involuntarily kicked an innocent pillow...

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...