Singe last time I have been up to Town for the first time since all this started without 2 crutches. I just took a walking stick. I have already described how crutches indicate that you have been injured or seriously dasabled, and deserve public support. Loiterers and by-standers move out of your way, and taxi drivers get out, hold open the door, and help you up the kerb. Use just a stick, however, and there is a different reaction - or rather no reaction at all. People shove you about, bump into you and regard you as just another old fart to be at best ignored. Taxi drivers become visibly impatient at the time it takes for you to get out and pay them, and British Rail staff, who until now have held the Grenyer Accolade for Helpfulness and Assistance, treat you like any other old commuter to be given the minimum of information and help. But the effect of walking far further than I have done for some months with only a stick for support seems to have had efficaceous effects equal to those of Lily the Pink. I now seem to be going further and further without any aids at all. I am back in the water and next week it will be 800m a day. Mind you, they do say that pride goes before something or other, and I have been to hospital today for my annual scan to check that the stent that they put in my aorta is not leaking. I shall be quite glad to get the results of that.
The weather has picked up, and I hope to get to the allotment next week to finish the pruning and to think about a bonfire of the cuttings. Not a lot of wffort in that. There are little heaps of weeds that have to be moved to the compost bins, which will be a bit more challenging, and I suppose I shall have to put in some more fruit bushes, so as to avoid having to dig. More on this and other things later.
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