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...