Roads
Blimey, windy innit? Just the sort of day you wanna go down the A420 and get stuck behind a swaying lorry, I shouldn't wonder. Ah, the A420. Where would Swindon be without it? The best thing to come out of Oxford, ha ha. Home of Shrivenham, Kingston Bagpuize and the Botley Interchange. Not forgetting, of course, a rather far-off view of the White Horse at Uffington (incidentally, one of my top five places in the universe - I'll be sure to tell you the other four at some point).
Where was I? Oh yes, on my way to Oxford for my physio appointment, two weeks after my ACL operation. I'd almost forgotten why I was writing this blog, for a moment. The appointment passed without comment, save a few expletives from my Dad about the A34 (which would lose hands-down to the 420 in a Battle Of The A Roads), and some soothing words from the physiotherapist.
She (physios are always a she, it seems, not that I'm complaining - softer hands, you see) gave me some more exercises (some like these, but nothing quite as fun as this alas), which mostly involved balancing a bit, stretching my leg / hamstring / knee much more than I'd like, and one which involves getting a big bottle and putting it under your knee and pressing down til you yelp. The physio said I had lovely calves, and was impressed with how far back my good leg went. Always useful, I find.
She said I could do some gentle swimming (I refrained from telling her that swimming is satan's physiotherapy). She also said I could do some upper-body weights down the gym if I wanted, go for a bit of a walk, and generally stop being quite so much of a loaf. Apparently, it's twisting the leg that I need to avoid (presumably so that the new ligament doesn't twist off), but straight leg movements are dandy. The knee is still a bit swollen, so I need to keep it raised and iced, and try to do these new exercises three times a day. That should be fun.
I don't know why I'm boring you with all this detail, but there's bugger all else to tell you. Oh, I've shaved my beard off, so I'm officially a beard-wuss. I think there's a critical stage in beard growth where the itchyness / gingerness / twattishness is at its peak - if you can get through it, you'll be the proud owner of a distinguished, non-twatty, non-itchy, nice-coloured beard. Alas, I gave up. I couldn't stand looking like Mr Twit any longer. Beards are for Christians and ale-drinkers, anyway.
But all is not lost, my hair gets more MAHOOSIVE by the day. It's at least two-foot tall, now. With my new poncey tweed jacket, I could fit in at Oxford Brookes University easily. I might even get a student discount on my train fare. Worth a shot, surely?
Where was I? Oh yes, on my way to Oxford for my physio appointment, two weeks after my ACL operation. I'd almost forgotten why I was writing this blog, for a moment. The appointment passed without comment, save a few expletives from my Dad about the A34 (which would lose hands-down to the 420 in a Battle Of The A Roads), and some soothing words from the physiotherapist.
She (physios are always a she, it seems, not that I'm complaining - softer hands, you see) gave me some more exercises (some like these, but nothing quite as fun as this alas), which mostly involved balancing a bit, stretching my leg / hamstring / knee much more than I'd like, and one which involves getting a big bottle and putting it under your knee and pressing down til you yelp. The physio said I had lovely calves, and was impressed with how far back my good leg went. Always useful, I find.
She said I could do some gentle swimming (I refrained from telling her that swimming is satan's physiotherapy). She also said I could do some upper-body weights down the gym if I wanted, go for a bit of a walk, and generally stop being quite so much of a loaf. Apparently, it's twisting the leg that I need to avoid (presumably so that the new ligament doesn't twist off), but straight leg movements are dandy. The knee is still a bit swollen, so I need to keep it raised and iced, and try to do these new exercises three times a day. That should be fun.
I don't know why I'm boring you with all this detail, but there's bugger all else to tell you. Oh, I've shaved my beard off, so I'm officially a beard-wuss. I think there's a critical stage in beard growth where the itchyness / gingerness / twattishness is at its peak - if you can get through it, you'll be the proud owner of a distinguished, non-twatty, non-itchy, nice-coloured beard. Alas, I gave up. I couldn't stand looking like Mr Twit any longer. Beards are for Christians and ale-drinkers, anyway.
But all is not lost, my hair gets more MAHOOSIVE by the day. It's at least two-foot tall, now. With my new poncey tweed jacket, I could fit in at Oxford Brookes University easily. I might even get a student discount on my train fare. Worth a shot, surely?
Labels: ACL reconstruction, Beard, hair, physiotherapy, Roads
posted by Badger at 3:38 PM
6 Comments:
My favourite is the A361.
Brilliant - I've just found the site of the guy who takes photos of road signs, of which his impressive Swindon collection is but a tiny corner. What a man. Insomnia, fare thee well.
Funny how one of your top 5 places ever is in beautiful Oxfordshire. call yourself an oxford hater? jealous. is insomnia contagious? i can't sleep, and i blame you baab.
did you hear chris martin on radio 1 tonight? worth a listen again, he took simon pegg along with him. chris was a bit over the top actually, all got a bit big on him. far from me to criticise, but his chat has the tendency to stink. i'd be better than him. i should be him. there's a plan.
Love the A361. Love the White Horse. Love the A419. Love insomnia. Chris, you're confusing hating Oxford United with hating anything to do with Oxford. It's a simple difference.
PS. Just had a proper look around the road sign photo website of Jonathan Winkler. The man's a genius. And he's obviously Oxford based. Or he was in 2001. We should arrange a meeting.
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