So why do things that I used to be able to shrug off with a rueful grin, now make me want to take to my bed for a week, with a lifetime's supply of tea and paracetamol? I mean, I've got a cold today. Okay, it's a nasty cold, big beefy cough, achy bones, inability to do anything much bar sit on the sofa and watch Tony Robinson...ahem, I mean, cough wanly and hold a hand to my forehead...but, a few years ago I would have popped a couple of pills, shrugged and carried on. Now I feel as though someone has nailed my feet to the floor.
My mother (who is 85, and therefore official Old, in anyone's language, she's allowed), had trouble with her knees. Knees are not something that run in our family, so I have no problem with my joints, generally speaking - but today? Today my knees are the least of my worries, when my back hurts and my elbows hurt. I should ring her up and sympathise with her knees. And ask her advice on how to pick things up off the floor without bending down (it hurts, and it makes my nose run).
And you know what's worse? I CAN'T EVEN FACE A HOBNOB!
That's it, I'm going back to bed. If anyone wants to come round and rub Vick on any part of me they can reach..feel free. Put the kettle on while you're here too... but don't bother with the biscuits...
|We're gonna need a bigger jar...|