Cutting a hedge up a ladder on Sunday, I felt my back go out. It's the first time in years, so I'm not complaining. And at least I didn't fall off the ladder.
Fortunately I had already bottled the home brew before the injury. And there's a plentiful supply of bliss pills and illegal painkillers, so it's not getting me down. I'm recovering steadily, and can already wipe my own arse again. What a fortunate creature I am.
Fortunate too, that I've been here before, so I know the ropes. This is just what works for me, but it might not work for you. I ignore the old-fashioned advice to lie flat until everything's okay again. But I don't go to the other extreme of premature yoga. Better to move just enough to stop muscles losing tone. Tease the knots to release their grip, but if you move too much you encourage more muscle spasm. Achieving that fine balance is what I'm good at. I'm off work, and I'm alternating walking about the place doing chores, and lying down to read a great book. And occasionally sitting at the PC for a different posture.
The book I'm enjoying is Iain Banks' Dead Air, and I've just opened the second-last bottle of my all-time favourite Bliss Piss, the 2005 vintage brewed soon after the death of Nobis RIP. That all seems like a lifetime ago. So much has happened and yet so little, perfect balance.