Send in the muscle

Ploggers, Ploggers, Ploggers, I can only apologise for my tardiness in writing.  It's been a lovely but busy few weeks... which is no real excuse, as I actually managed to take a few days' annual leave.  My biggest problem at the moment is a massive backache, which makes sitting for any length of time (i.e. 5 minutes) really painful.  Until recently, I would balance the laptop on my tummy and tap away.  However, said tummy is now roughly the size of Mount Everest and the stupid laptop refuses to balance.

So I'm typing this as quickly as I can with a family-sized box of codeine next to me, just in case.  They don't really make family-sized boxes of codeine.  That wouldn't really be an appropriate marketing strategy.  They should though.  The first time I took it, I giggled at cheese in Tesco for approximately 15 minutes.

So I've been seeing a bunch of useless bastards healthcare professionals to try and sort the backache out, with somewhat limited success.  They're all lovely - just not terribly efficacious.  My physio in particular takes delight in hurting me.  It's a kind of deep tissue massage where she "releases pressure points" - this is technical terminology for getting her fingers or elbows or other evil pointy part of her body and jamming it into a part of my body which - until this point - wasn't hurting at all.  Apparently that's irrelevant, and it'll release pressure elsewhere.  I have pain in my spine and shoulder blades.  On Friday, she stuck her elbow into my arse.  Until I screamed.

Admittedly, at that point, I probably shouldn't have said, "Have you ever considered a career as a dominatrix?  I think they might earn more than physios."

Mental note: when someone has the wherewithal, the opportunity and quite literally the licence to cause you pain, perhaps suggesting they're a sex worker isn't the easiest route to a pain-free future.  You live, you learn.