I do find it amusing, through the tears of pain and agony, that I am managing to leave lockdown with a knee which is absolutely buggered somehow.
I guess three or four months of relative inactivity – even for me – have absolutely done a number on it – or the days I spent lugging things from Old Riddle to New Riddle (and the ludicrous number of stairs involved in that endeavour) have taken their toll.
My knee has, to a certain extent, always hated me. It gets painful if it’s bent for prolonged periods of time, which can make some theatre shows, comedy gigs and a lot of the Fringe quite painful depending on how I can position my leg once I’m sat down. It used to hurt on car rides to Scotland when I was a kid. I just suffer quietly and don’t let on if I’m in pain.
Apparently, though, I’ve now reached the age where any pain will also result in a sharp intake of breath and a swear word. So it’s a lot more fun now, as it’s painful and potentially offensive to any one in earshot.
I’m currently holding my leg together with a support which is 98% leg hair catching velcro, so at least the pain of each hair being ripped out at the follicle distracts from any discomfort in the knee area.
I reckon the way 2020 is going my leg will be wooden by December…