For lack of something intelligent/ controversial/ funny/ angry to write today, I've plumped for snippets of drivel...
Corr but it rained yesterday! It thundered and lightninged, too, so I'm not expecting many eggs today what with oviducts being easily startled by sudden bangs. Or at least I am bracing myself for eggs with funny bumps in the shells. I thought, all that rain, the courgettes will be the size of marrows, so I went to the allotment first thing and discovered the courgettes were the size of small courgettes. Ah well. There were some runner beans to pick and I got a big old Tupperware box of blackberries, too, so the journey wasn't entirely wasted (although the large courgette/marrow carry-bag was.)
Back home I gave Pandora her first taste of catnip chocolates. She and Tybalt shared a healthy scattering between them and then lay on the kitchen floor, totally spaced out and batting their paws at each other, only they kept missing. Whilst Tybalt is a big hefty Tom cat and can handle his catnip,Pandora is still a delicate (although rapidly growing) kitten and she is now reposing on the top of the scratching post tower looking like she has the cat equivalent of a heavy hang-over. Still, all the while she is doing that she isn't launching herself at my legs and adding to the scars that are already there!
I've spent a couple of hours on Authonomy, trying to avoid aggressive Americans marketing their books and people deliberately trying to wind each other up on the Forums. Another nine chapters of Indigo Antfarm, Violet and Blue were added at the weekend by my publicist (i.e Andy) and the book is chugging its way nicely up the ratings. I'm doing my best to read five other books a day (not whole books, you understand - that would be CRAZY -but the synopsis and three chapters) and to comment as constructively as possible. I can't think I'm ever going to get to the Editor's Desk but it's not my modus operandi. A top 100 place would be nice.
Er...what else? Oh yes, doing some planning to start a web-site! This seems to be the next obvious step for Much Malarkey Manor. I've also started another blog (currently Top Secret as I want to see how it goes before I reveal its whereabouts and whyabouts) which is giving me practice in doing IT stuff for myself instead of looking pitifully at Andy and saying 'Andeeeeeeeeeeee....I can't dooooooo this....can you heeeeeeeeeeeeelp me.....pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze,' which is what I usually do re: interwebbly techno-stuff and is very, very pathetic of me. (But I am a girl).
And finally, my Achilles tendon is playing up again. This is my own stupid fault. On Sunday, after we'd done three hours at the allotment, I said to Andy, 'I'll go and unlock the top gate' (our usual gate being blocked by a lorry) and he said, 'Okay, but stop faffing, I want to go home,' and I said, 'I'm not faffing,' and he said, 'You are. I'll get to the top gate before you at this rate.' So I said, 'No you won't,' and I RAN to the gate which is quite a way away, and Andy chased after me in the car.
I won, of course, despite being on foot. I won because I zig-zagged in his path with my arms outstretched and he didn't feel he could run me over because I had Sunday lunch to cook when we got home which included the promise of a blackberry and apple crumble. And I had the gate key, so even if he had overtaken me which he says he could have done easily (yeah, right!) he'd have had to wait for me to undo the padlock.
And the upshot is that I've done my lower left leg in again.
Will I ever learn?
Unlikely.
Showing posts with label Achilles tendon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Achilles tendon. Show all posts
Wednesday, 8 July 2009
Thursday, 7 May 2009
Wrap and roll and happy feet
In an attempt to diversify from the sandwich form and put something different in Andy's packed lunch occasionally, I bought some wraps. You know, those large flat pancake bits of bread that you use to wrap around a filling, hence the name 'wrap.'
Except I think they are very much mis-named. I think they should be called 'flops' or 'spills' or maybe 'split-as-soon-as-you-pick-them-ups'. They start off okay. You assemble your filling, position it somewhere just off-centre of the wrap and then you faff about trying to find the best origami configuration to use so when you pick it up to eat it it doesn't spill its contents all down your trousers.
I've tried following the instructions on the back of the packet but as far as I can tell, in order to do this effectively, the wraps need to be at least twice the size they are AND the amount of filling needs to be reduced to say, a slice of cucumber, a square centimetre of red pepper and a teaspoon of tuna/cheese/ sausage/ whatever Andy wants, it's usually one of those three options. (I add the salad in an attempt to get him to eat vegetables. There are three ways to get Andy to eat vegetables - 1) hide them in cheese sauce 2) hide them in curry sauce 3) tell him if he doesn't eat his veg he won't get any pudding.)
Anyway, I managed to wrestle two artfully folded wraps into a sandwich bag this morning. I can only imagine the disaster that is likely to happen when Andy takes them out to eat at lunchtime. I can't help think a roll would be an easier option. You can't go wrong with a roll, can you? At least they are robust enough that you can give them a good smack with the palm of your hand to keep the contents in situ.
And did you see that dear old Tezzco has developed a non-soggy tomato especially for use in tomato sandwiches so you don't end up with tomato juice soaking through the bread and making the whole sandwich collapse in a wet heap?
THAT'S WHAT BUTTER IS FOR, YOU IDIOTS! Butter provides a waterproof layer twixt bread and tomato so no leakage happens. It always works for me. And to think this company is one of the most powerful and influential in this country...
Now, see this foot?
This is a happy foot! This foot has been hobblin' and wobblin' for ten days now. This foot has been limpin' and shufflin' up and down stairs, around the house and even making it into town a couple of times in highly heroic fashion. This foot has swum up and down with me through the pain of a burning Achilles tendon.
Last night, Andy came home with a present for me. Flowers? Choccies? The latest cutting edge literary novel (oh no, that's the one I'm currently writing!)? No. An ankle support. Oh yes, Andy is nothing if not original in his choice of pressies! Much hilarity was had trying to lever my foot/ankle into the support following the supposedly 'simple' instructions (remember, I have trouble with sandwich wraps, let alone highly elastic ankle wraps. But you'd think a vet would be able to cope, wouldn't you??). The effect was instantaneous! It was like the pain was bathed in the breath of angels and carried away on clouds of candy floss. Oh yes! I fairly skipped around last night wearing that support. 'Look!' I was shouting, 'I can stamp my foot down really hard and it doesn' t hurt!!'
I had to take it off eventually because my toes were going blue and the elastic was grooving divots in my skin but when I got up this morning - BINGO! My foot is now a happy foot!!
Except I think they are very much mis-named. I think they should be called 'flops' or 'spills' or maybe 'split-as-soon-as-you-pick-them-ups'. They start off okay. You assemble your filling, position it somewhere just off-centre of the wrap and then you faff about trying to find the best origami configuration to use so when you pick it up to eat it it doesn't spill its contents all down your trousers.
I've tried following the instructions on the back of the packet but as far as I can tell, in order to do this effectively, the wraps need to be at least twice the size they are AND the amount of filling needs to be reduced to say, a slice of cucumber, a square centimetre of red pepper and a teaspoon of tuna/cheese/ sausage/ whatever Andy wants, it's usually one of those three options. (I add the salad in an attempt to get him to eat vegetables. There are three ways to get Andy to eat vegetables - 1) hide them in cheese sauce 2) hide them in curry sauce 3) tell him if he doesn't eat his veg he won't get any pudding.)
Anyway, I managed to wrestle two artfully folded wraps into a sandwich bag this morning. I can only imagine the disaster that is likely to happen when Andy takes them out to eat at lunchtime. I can't help think a roll would be an easier option. You can't go wrong with a roll, can you? At least they are robust enough that you can give them a good smack with the palm of your hand to keep the contents in situ.
And did you see that dear old Tezzco has developed a non-soggy tomato especially for use in tomato sandwiches so you don't end up with tomato juice soaking through the bread and making the whole sandwich collapse in a wet heap?
THAT'S WHAT BUTTER IS FOR, YOU IDIOTS! Butter provides a waterproof layer twixt bread and tomato so no leakage happens. It always works for me. And to think this company is one of the most powerful and influential in this country...
Now, see this foot?
This is a happy foot! This foot has been hobblin' and wobblin' for ten days now. This foot has been limpin' and shufflin' up and down stairs, around the house and even making it into town a couple of times in highly heroic fashion. This foot has swum up and down with me through the pain of a burning Achilles tendon.
Last night, Andy came home with a present for me. Flowers? Choccies? The latest cutting edge literary novel (oh no, that's the one I'm currently writing!)? No. An ankle support. Oh yes, Andy is nothing if not original in his choice of pressies! Much hilarity was had trying to lever my foot/ankle into the support following the supposedly 'simple' instructions (remember, I have trouble with sandwich wraps, let alone highly elastic ankle wraps. But you'd think a vet would be able to cope, wouldn't you??). The effect was instantaneous! It was like the pain was bathed in the breath of angels and carried away on clouds of candy floss. Oh yes! I fairly skipped around last night wearing that support. 'Look!' I was shouting, 'I can stamp my foot down really hard and it doesn' t hurt!!'
I had to take it off eventually because my toes were going blue and the elastic was grooving divots in my skin but when I got up this morning - BINGO! My foot is now a happy foot!!
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
Ouch!
I took ShockAbsorber D+ Level 4 36F for a trial run yesterday. Well, jog. Well, sort of fast paced walking with a hoppity motion. Well, hobble.
You see last week I spent considerable time at the allotment and in the front garden digging. In wellies. Which are well-known for their lack of foot arch support. When trying to extract an ancient rose bush from the front garden, one with a root system that reaches to somewhere just outside Watford, I felt something go 'ping' in the region of my left calf. Didn't give it a second thought. My pants were still up, so it wasn't the knicker elastic giving out, and that's all a girl really needs to worry about isn't it? So I carried on digging, creating a two foot wide moat around this damn rose bush's root system, but I couldn't get it to shift. I balanced on the top of the fork and bounced up and down. The root moved a bit. My ankle pinged again.
Eventually, I gave up and went inside for some lunch. It was only when I tried to stand after resting for half an hour or so that I realised I had A PROBLEM. My left ankle had seized up. The pain was somewhere between burning achiness and complete agony.
Yes, I had torn my Achilles tendon. (I know this; I had a consultation with the vet aka Andy. Always go to a vet. They train longer than doctors and lift you onto the couch rather than making you get up there yourself. Just watch where they aim the thermometer, that's all.)
It eased up over the weekend. Gentle walking, swimming, no problem. A bit twingy, but hey, I've given birth twice and sat through some excrutiatingly bad GCSE Drama exam performances, the discomfort was nothing I couldn't handle.
So into the sun I went yesterday avec my new jogging bottoms (size 14 no less. Get me!!), a cotton vest top, my red fleece, old trainers that will do for now and new bra which rendered me momentarily unable to breathe, it was so snug. I marched down the road to the back entrance to the park because I have discovered a place I can run where NO-ONE else will see me. It's a rugby pitch out the back of the leisure centre and very rarely is there another soul in sight. Perfect!
The jogging plan I wanted to try is called the '60 Second Plan.' Basically , you start by running for 60 seconds, then brisk walk for 3 minutes, and repeat 4 times. By the end of 10 weeks, you should be running for 3 minutes and brisk walking for 60 seconds repeated 10 times.
'I can do that,' I thought, visions of me leaping like a fleet footed gazelle around the rugby pitch, scattering a basket of rose petals in my wake like some sort of woodland nymph.
I reached the rugby pitch. Did a couple of bendy stretchy exercises. And, looking v. professional with my water bottle in my hand, glanced at my watch and set off for '60 second run' x 1. Within 40 seconds, something in my ankle went 'ping.'
Aaaaaaarrrggghhhhhhhh....and...OUCH-KI-BIBBLE!!!!
The sensible thing at this point would have been to STOP and CRAWL HOME.
But this is me we're talking about. Tenacious me. Determined me. Woman-who-posts-a- photo-on-the-Interweb-of-herself-wearing-a-large-brassiere-on-her-head-me. I'm hardly likely to do the sensible thing, am I??
Oh no. I hobble on and complete the first day 60 second training session. I limp home, gritting my teeth through the pain. I collapse on the sofa with ankle on hot water bottle. I get up from sofa. I can't walk. And the rest of the day is spent limping extravagantly around the house like a 95 year old with their foot riveted to a paving slab. Getting up and down stairs was very interesting.
So my plans to start jogging this week have been scuppered for a few days. I managed a swim this morning with the aid of pain killers and sobbing wildly through the agony.
But you'll be pleased to know the bra worked very well. Big tick, gold star 10/10. No pinging tendon issues in that department.
You see last week I spent considerable time at the allotment and in the front garden digging. In wellies. Which are well-known for their lack of foot arch support. When trying to extract an ancient rose bush from the front garden, one with a root system that reaches to somewhere just outside Watford, I felt something go 'ping' in the region of my left calf. Didn't give it a second thought. My pants were still up, so it wasn't the knicker elastic giving out, and that's all a girl really needs to worry about isn't it? So I carried on digging, creating a two foot wide moat around this damn rose bush's root system, but I couldn't get it to shift. I balanced on the top of the fork and bounced up and down. The root moved a bit. My ankle pinged again.
Eventually, I gave up and went inside for some lunch. It was only when I tried to stand after resting for half an hour or so that I realised I had A PROBLEM. My left ankle had seized up. The pain was somewhere between burning achiness and complete agony.
Yes, I had torn my Achilles tendon. (I know this; I had a consultation with the vet aka Andy. Always go to a vet. They train longer than doctors and lift you onto the couch rather than making you get up there yourself. Just watch where they aim the thermometer, that's all.)
It eased up over the weekend. Gentle walking, swimming, no problem. A bit twingy, but hey, I've given birth twice and sat through some excrutiatingly bad GCSE Drama exam performances, the discomfort was nothing I couldn't handle.
So into the sun I went yesterday avec my new jogging bottoms (size 14 no less. Get me!!), a cotton vest top, my red fleece, old trainers that will do for now and new bra which rendered me momentarily unable to breathe, it was so snug. I marched down the road to the back entrance to the park because I have discovered a place I can run where NO-ONE else will see me. It's a rugby pitch out the back of the leisure centre and very rarely is there another soul in sight. Perfect!
The jogging plan I wanted to try is called the '60 Second Plan.' Basically , you start by running for 60 seconds, then brisk walk for 3 minutes, and repeat 4 times. By the end of 10 weeks, you should be running for 3 minutes and brisk walking for 60 seconds repeated 10 times.
'I can do that,' I thought, visions of me leaping like a fleet footed gazelle around the rugby pitch, scattering a basket of rose petals in my wake like some sort of woodland nymph.
I reached the rugby pitch. Did a couple of bendy stretchy exercises. And, looking v. professional with my water bottle in my hand, glanced at my watch and set off for '60 second run' x 1. Within 40 seconds, something in my ankle went 'ping.'
Aaaaaaarrrggghhhhhhhh....and...OUCH-KI-BIBBLE!!!!
The sensible thing at this point would have been to STOP and CRAWL HOME.
But this is me we're talking about. Tenacious me. Determined me. Woman-who-posts-a- photo-on-the-Interweb-of-herself-wearing-a-large-brassiere-on-her-head-me. I'm hardly likely to do the sensible thing, am I??
Oh no. I hobble on and complete the first day 60 second training session. I limp home, gritting my teeth through the pain. I collapse on the sofa with ankle on hot water bottle. I get up from sofa. I can't walk. And the rest of the day is spent limping extravagantly around the house like a 95 year old with their foot riveted to a paving slab. Getting up and down stairs was very interesting.
So my plans to start jogging this week have been scuppered for a few days. I managed a swim this morning with the aid of pain killers and sobbing wildly through the agony.
But you'll be pleased to know the bra worked very well. Big tick, gold star 10/10. No pinging tendon issues in that department.
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