One step forwards, two steps back - In the name of Thiago - Day 154
This was supposed to be the big day. The day that my 300 mile walk started at that magnificent hostelry – The Vic on Latimer Road, in my home town of Eastbourne. Fifteen weeks precisely from today is when it will begin now, and though I do feel a little bit sad that I’m not writing today about the joyous camaraderie you get when a number of good friends gather two fucking metres apart, it is of course, for the best.
As you may have gathered from that last sentence, I am entering the realms of Covid-19 fatigue. It’s not that I don’t give a shit – if I could honestly portray my sentiments on the whole situation at the moment, I would describe myself as giving a bit of a shit – but I am reaching the point where I feel it’s time to start getting a bit of life back. It’s the older generations I admire the most in actual fact as they probably have less time than the rest of us. I think if I’d been in my 70s, I would have said bollocks to all this a long time ago.
This is the other reason I should probably be grateful that my 300 mile trek is not starting today. I exacerbated a knee niggle about a week or so ago and then picked up a muscle injury in my right leg last week playing tennis, which I realise sounds lame as shit. But I did, so there’s very little more I can say on the matter.
The voice of reason – aka Angelica – gave me a bit of stern talking to this morning, reminding me of my responsibility to my health more than anything else. I’m not really anything like a ‘typical bloke,’ apart from when it comes to health I suppose.
I had a chat with Bulldog today and we’re both in a similar camp on this, in that we would normally say ‘does it hurt – yes, can you carry on – yes’. So carry on. Naturally this would be followed a week or so later by, ‘does it hurt – yes, can you carry on – no’. Right you’re fucked, stop.
I can’t afford that to happen in September of course, and though it’s fair to say that the little man will be driving me on, as he’ll be with me in spirit every step of the way, physiology will no doubt have a say at some point too. I really mustn’t knacker this up.
I popped back in to our local chippy, The Dancing Octopus this afternoon with some felt hearts. The girls in there have taken a real interest in my story and have kindly agreed to do their bit to try to drive up a few donations. With fundraising being such a hard thing to do for charities let alone individuals like me, gestures like theirs make a big difference.
Dad was after an indoor extension cable when he popped round today so I offered to take him out to find one. Bad mistake. We went to Homebase first, where the queues were horrendous. I reasoned that we may encounter a similar queue at a supermarket, but it would be moving more quickly. So we did a quick impromptu tour of the car park and got on our way. Well this queue went back for as far as the eye could see, and then some. It is Saturday I suppose.
I’ve pretty much given up second guessing when the best time to go out is now. Unless you’re an insomniac, who can shop in the very early hours of the morning, there doesn’t seem to be a good time. We just about made it into Sainsbury before the heavens opened once more though, so be grateful for small mercies I guess.
Angelica and I had a couple of mates round this afternoon and Elisa’s been to a mate’s house to have a play, so I’m fairly sure we’re breaking the law somewhere along the way. But then again the law is what you want it to be these days, at least it certainly is according to Scummings. So carry on, I say.
We had our coffee and walnut cake and carried on. It was splendid. Dad showed his new found dedication to his need to shift a few pounds by having an absolutely fucking massive slice!
Don’t forget to donate folks, supported by your kindness and generosity I’m going to realise my goals this year.