7 weeks

It's been seven weeks since the operation. Potentially 30 weeks to go. If I do well. Woo hoo! No, seriously (and when am I ever not serious?), apparently I'm making good progress. Saw the nice physio today and she prodded and rubbed and made me stretch in ways that I didn't want to, and she said it was looking good. Hoorah!

I've actually been to the hospital twice this week, and I'm still trying to work out why. I was booked in for this Tuesday immediately after my operation, apparently to see the main consultant dude. But obviously he was too busy and important so I saw a physio, who also prodded a bit and said that my scar was healing nice and lovely, and showed me an x-ray of the bits of metal that now live in my knee.

But then I saw my usual physio on today (though it seems like last week for some reason, think it's because I've been TOO BUSY of late), who I'm sure could have done exactly what the other physio did on Tuesday. Good old efficient, money-saving NHS, eh?

I've been given some more exercises to do. You'd think they would have run out of different things to do with the knee by now, but no. I've got some more stretches, more bends and more balancing stuff to get on with, and I can start to work towards running and swimming and all kinds of all-action SHIT like that, man.

The physios said that I'm to massage my leg to help the numb patch on my shin, and to help the scar heal good. Any offers?

Phones

Just tried to upgrade my mobile phone. Bored of my retro classic NOKIA 8310e cutting out every time I try to write a text message. My friends (both of them) have started to notice that I don't write texts any more. Anyway, upgrading is rubbish. They try get as much out of you as they can, paying no heed to the fact that you've been a loyal customer since the dawn of mobile phones (it's all about 'new business' these days).

There are also roughly 400 phones to choose from, when all you want is your faithful NOKIA 8310e, but in working condition, and perhaps with a little camera and a nice screen. Instead you get a hulking piece of chrome with so many functions you'll never fathom what half of them do, and with 3G Bluetooth megapixels coming out of its fair behind.

And then they baffle you with fiendishly complicated combinations of text message bundles, free minutes, magic numbers, off-peak, on-peak, landline and video minutes, and ensnare you into a £60 a month contract for the next five years, cos it seemed like the best value at the time. And that's another thing - what's all this about 18 month contracts? Isn't a year long enough?

Despite all this, I actually rather like technology, and I was in the shop getting rather excited about the prospect of a spangly new phone when the helpful assistant, having spent roughly 30 minutes talking me through the many contract permutations and totally useless phone functions, realised I wasn't actually due an upgrade until 5 March. So that was that.

Interesting blog, no?

Saturday

Heavy week. Hangover. Tired. Union Street 1 - 6 Fairview. Swndon Town 1 - 1 Darlington. Black Swan. Guinness. Chinese takeaway. Time to go out and get drunk, I think.

Snow

I love snow. Why does it have to leave so quick? Soft, silent fluff falling from blanket skies. Puts me in a right philosophical mood, so it does. Contemplatin' things, y'know? And then of course there's the snowfights and snowmen and snowlarkin'. It's all lovely, even the chaotic drive to work through the thick brown sludge was enjoyable - looking at all these white things wot used to be green or grey or brown, totally transformed into things of wonder and beauty.

I got so lost in thought I started hippy-thinking about why we get snow in winter. I came up with some weird theory that it's cos we don't get much light, so the snow helps us to see proper. It reflects everything and helps gets us through the long darkness. Shame we only get it for one night every two years, but there you go. Not like the old days. I'm getting like an old man in that regard: "I remember in 1983 we had snowdrifts as big as a man. Happy days."

Snow-time is the only time of year when I think that having kids of a certain age (say, 9 or 10) might be fun. They get sent home from school, so of course you have to take the day off work - and then you trek up the nearest hill and throw yourself down it on a tray or somesuch, make snowmen and then pummel your happy children with snowballs, hopefully making them cry in true competitive-Dad style. Sounds like bliss. Or maybe I have an idealised view of parenthood?

Gyms

Went to the gym for the first time in two months yesterday. Thought I might as well get used to the place - I'll be spending the next nine or so months there, after all. Funny places, gyms. Funny word, too. A bit like pygmy, but different. Gotta love a y in the wrong place.

Like I was saying, they're funny places. Everyone wears an iPod, usually awkwardly strapped to their arm like one of those pumpy-air-pressure-measuring things. Yesterday was the first time I was able to join these super-healthy, bouncy-jogging, iPod-wearing hoards in their natural environment. Alas, I was sans arm strap, but I still felt, like, cool man - though that was before I had to fumble around getting the headphones up under my t-shirt, and then to stay in my ears when I got on the treadmill.

That's when I realised that everyone who wears an iPod down the gym has a curious musical cacophany accompanying their huffing and puffing. You see, unless you've got some big, fancy, cover-the-ears-and-go-round-the-back headphones, you'll get a faintly infuriating blend coming through your earhole - the distant beat and hum of one of your favourite songs combined with the slightly more prominent bleat and blare of MTV DANCE HITS MEGA ANTHEMS ALL DAY SUNDAY.

I turned up the volume on my so-tiny-I-can't-find-it-in-my-shorts (fnar) iPod to no avail - and then spent most of the time sticking my tiny little ear pieces as far into my ear as they'd go without drawing blood, just to block out PUT YOUR HANDS UP PUT YOUR HANDS UP FOR DETROIT.

So, iPods aren't as cool down the gym as I thought. Not that I ever really thought they were cool. Just poncey. Seems I got that right - though it was nice, when MTV DANCE gave it a bit of a rest or I was positioned away from one of the gigantic speakers, to hear The Beatles or Sigur Ros or whatever, as I PUMPED IRON / FELT THE BURN / WONDERED WHAT THE HELL I WAS DOING IN THE GYM ON A BRIGHT SUNDAY MORNING.

Back to the gym - I was testing the ol' knee out, so I did some up-hill treadmill walking which felt pretty good. Then I thought I'd give cycling a bash - the physio said I could try it on a zero resistance setting, just to get used to it. It wasn't all that easy. I had to get on the bike first - the limited movement in the leg made that hard, but doable.

But moving the pedals round was a very different kettle of difficult bananas altogether - I very tentatively and weedily went as fast as I could, but then the machine started on-screen yelling at me PEDAL FASTER. I'm trying! PEDAL FASTER. Give me a break! GOING INTO STANDBY MODE. You heartless bastard!

Didn't that crummy little machine know hard I was trying? Nothing like kicking a man when he's down. Useless piece of plastic get-fit CRAP. It's just jealous it's not a REAL bike that can, like, go outside and go down hills and get muddy and splash in puddles and everything. Wanker.

Therapy

Well, it's not broken. I saw the physio on Thursday and she told me to stop being such a pansy. It's very unlikely that I'll break my new ligament (unless I do something stupid like playing football), and if I did I'd know about it - it'd bleedin hurt. Incidentally, I had a dream this week that I went to play football for the Street with my dodgy knee, because we were so short of players. I was terrified. I'm even dreaming of playing football, how silly.

The physio also gave me some brand new exercises to brighten up my days - hamstring catches, standing on one leg with my eyes closed, straight leg raises that hurt your bum - all that kind of palarver. (God, anyone know how to spell that word? Answers below, please.) She said it all seemed OK - I can't swim or run or anything horrible like that yet, but at least I know I'm heading in the right direction. A weight off the ol' proverbial.

Anyway, it's a BLOODY BEAUTIFUL DAY. What the hell am I doing writing this? I'm going to bugger off around that Oxford, look at some trees, gaze at the sky, and cross my fingers that Union Street, Swindon Town and Liverpool all win...