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Friday, June 17, 2005


"Get your own wheelchair, crutch-boy!"
- Funny aside in an otherwise dreadful movie.

Won't be able to sit here very long today. One of my arthritic ankles - busted knees, ankles, and spine being all I have left from my rugby-playing days - one of my ankles ballooned last night to the extent that I have no arch in my foot. It is impossible to stand, let alone walk, today without the assistance of crutches, and even sitting nicely at a terminal can not be accomplished painlessly. In short, I'm miserable, and I'm most likely going to disappear to bed and lie bored all day. There is no way I could carry my laptop upstairs, anyway.

To cheer you up, though, recall my previous post: she really did say that to me. Shift to last night, the dark depths of the night, about an hour after I finally managed to get to sleep. Woke up bursting - I mean, the "no way this can hold another ten seconds" type of visitation. I arose with extreme tentivity, if there is such a word, and in silence and utter darkness. While trying to navigate the turn at the bottom of our bed, I did: I fell off my f'ing crutches and fell through my wardrobe door. Wifie woke up in a panic, of course.

Much easier to laugh about it now. One of the f'ing things is all twisted and buckled, now.

So please, enjoy your day and your weekend. Bearded is going to lie down.


Blogger DarkoV said...

Where can I send you a pint or two, to make it through the days and to bring back happier (and less painful) days?

10:10 AM  
Blogger F.C. Bearded said...

Perhaps a "Name That Pub" competition? Except I won't go within fifty yards of any "British" pub here in SoCal. There's quite a few of them too, all offering good-olde-worlde Blightey fare, with British Bulldogs and Union Jacks across their portals, all failing dismally.

I'll start... a half and a hauf at "The Crippled Coot".

3:59 PM  
Blogger Whisky Prajer said...

You're sure you're done with malt whisky? Perhaps you ought to open "The Rugger's Repose" (hmm ... seems the Shorter Oxford doesn't want to give me "Rugger" quite in the sense I'd like to use it. Ah, well: it's a plastic language, right?)

8:15 AM  
Anonymous madame l. said...

laptop in backpack solution.
pub name: the old willie.
slightly off topic:
when we lived in boston there was an olde fakey englishy pub called john harvards where they brewed their own beer. one of the beers was called "old willie". so you can imagine the rest: think i'll try a bit of the old willie. etc etc ad nauseum.
listening to creedence, up on crippled creek.

8:34 AM  
Blogger F.C. Bearded said...

I'd thought of the backpack solution - but rather too late. The kids are all at school and have their packs with them. The prospect of one of them emptying a backpack fills me with some kindof dread: those things are like the Tardis - way way bigger and fuller on the inside than they look from the outside.

Besides, haven't been able to move all weekend, other than squirming and wriggling on the couch.

The fake olde-pubbe thing is not restricted to Boston or indeed america: it had been happening for years in britain too before I left. A kind of gentrification process where all the old dives with sawdust floors and "character" were bought and refurbished. Copper kettles over the bar were a signal to move on. They'd also build new pubs, franchise pubs, copper kettles and fake oak beams, and totally contrived names. Ferkin' was one - "The Dog and Ferkin Parrot", The Burke and Ferkin Hare", crap like that. Or the new "Irish" bars that sprang-up, but at least you were guaranteed real fiddlers and whistlers of a Friday night there.

Blah blah blah Not like the old days blah blah blah.

I'm totally becoming pub bore.

9:11 AM  

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