Sciatica....A Pain in the Arse

It's taken me a little while to report on it but I had the interview without coffee. It went something like this:

'Do you recognise this reproduction of a comment made in your name?'

'Yes, I do.'

'Did you write it?'

'Yes I did.'

'Then you're a very naughty boy, and I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy My brothers. And you will know My name is the Lord when I lay My vengeance upon thee.'

Actually, the final part of the interview wasn't like that, but it might have been if you believe the words of the person that made the third comment on my last post (thanks for that, Anonymous....keep taking the tablets....).

Anyway, I will now wait until sometime in early July when I will return to Meerkat Manor to have my fate decided upon. Until then I have a 95 mile foot race to prepare for. And true to form, as I enter the final phase of the pre race process, I have injured myself.

ITB? Nope.

Ankle? Nope.

Hip girdle? Nope.

STD? Nope.

It went kinda like this:

A brown envelope comes through the door. I open it. No lottery win, no pools success, not even notification that I've achieved the next stage in a prize draw where I could win a new car, a holiday abroad, a flat screen telly, or one of 3,500 boxes of Vienetta that's nearing its 'Use By' date

All it is is a poxy electric bill.

But wait....what's this????

'You are now £538 in credit. You need to do nothing, we will carry your credit over to your next bill.'

A phone call later and the customer service representative is told I'd rather the credit accrue interest in my account rather than burgeoning the ever inflating coffers of Southern Electric.

But she needs a current meter reading.

'Wait right there,' I tell her.

So I'm trying to squeeze my body through a six inch gap to get past the washing machine and deep into the cupboard under the stairs that houses the electric meter. At one point I'm almost upside down with a headtorch on but, by golly, I'm getting that meter reading and recovering the five hundred quid that Southern Electric wish to kindly carry over.

It was during this operation that I trapped my sciatic nerve and now have a sharp localised pain at the base of my spine just above the crack of my arse that has me walking like Douglas Bader with a rather large marital aid shoved up his 'Arris.

I've had a good look through the Yellow Pages and have located a decent local chiropractor that should be able to cure this problem in just under two weeks.

For about five hundred quid.

Cheers, easy.

My injury, painful as it is, failed to prevent me, Mrs Mac, Horatio and Mrs Horatio (Horatiette?) Hooper from being the guests of my Borough Commander at the Colonel's Review of the Trooping of the Colour yesterday.

True to form my training for a 95 mile footrace suffered the usual setback of a light lunch that turned into a furious engagement with much Guinness and whisky.

I attach the following pics.

Laters.