Picture the scene. I've spent the whole day, from the time Saturday Kitchen comes on, right the way through to teatime, sitting cross-legged on my favourite red velvet floor cushion, (I realise this speaks volumes about me), revising drawings and filing this with that; paper clipping this card to that photo; systematically building up a tidy pile of all the designs I've completed over the last couple of years. Childless weekends have this effect on me. To a Virgo, this is almost as good as it gets.
Upstairs and in and out of the shower. Dressy dressy ready for an evening out at the flicks, then downstairs again and into the study sitting on the chair putting my shoes on. Then I stand up and dislocate my knee.
I knew what to do. Gripped my knee firmly with both hands and in one steady movement put everything back into place, ending with a reassuring Clunk! and a wave of nausea. It was two days before my GP could be bothered to fit me in. "I'll send you for a bit of physio, but not bother with an X-ray unless the physio thinks its warranted." Thanks very much. "Why didn't you take yourself to ED?" Because it's 800£ off your budget as I walk through the doors, you ungrateful bloody wretch. Next time I'm calling an ambulance. They're only too keen to get you to A&E, as they're mostly bored and like to spend as much of their Saturday night as possible chatting to nurses and laughing at patients. Orthos are little better.
I still haven't got my hyacinths and Paperwhites potted up. As I can't finish off re-setting my tumbling raised beds, I'll hop into the glasshouse this weekend and do it then.