Marking time

How strange life feels when you put everything on hold. Right now, I should be somewhere in the air above Europe, en route for a walking holiday in Sicily. Instead, I am sitting like an Edwardian duchess on a hard chair blogging through a drug-induced haze. I'm not even at church this sunny morning, as we shall be there this afternoon celebrating a baptism and a blessing as well as the Eucharist.

And all because of an afternoon's weeding. Two weeks ago today I engaged in a fairly ladylike fashion with the weeds sprouting among the white stones that are supposed to be a decorative feature of our front garden. They are devastating on the knees if you kneel down, so I didn't. I walked over the stones, bending from the waist.

Fool.

After a week of ruefully admitting that I had a sore back, I took myself to the GP. And went back two days later. And made myself ill with one lethally effective painkiller, saw a wonderful physiotherapist, went back to the GP and had an Xray. Finally - or maybe not - I had an NHS24-arranged visit from an out-of-hours doctor when I had spent an entire night sitting up playing bubbles on the iMac and feeling sorry for myself.

And here I am. I've turned into a Zombie. I'm told they're frightfully in these days. I find myself relieved that I'm not crammed into a tourist flight, not about to spend a week in a hard Sicilian bed, not having to be cheerful when I feel glazed. I shall be able to recover my ailing iMac a week earlier than planned, and I shall be glad to see my friends Csaba and Melinda celebrate their baby and their already wonderful marriage.

Are these, then, the silver linings to this particular cloud? Perhaps. But we shall have that holiday in Sicily. Just let me get my back sorted ...

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