With this bloody neck. It is now four and a half months since *that* physio episode, and it’s not getting better. If anything it’s getting worse, and it’s becomming quite debilitating. I saw my Dr on Wednesday (for something else), and he seems to think the Pain Clinic will want to do a bit more delving into the whys and wherefores when I see them again in June, scans and the like. I hope so, because it’s really beginning to get to me - and the super wappy painkillers aren’t really that effective anymore.
In other news, I accidentally attended my fourth football match yesterday - we were heading down to Chepstow for an evening wedding reception, and of course Chris wanted to get a game in. The original plan was to drop me off at the hotel for a spot of lunch and some chill time while he went to the game, then we’d have a couple of hours to get ready and head off to the do. All was going swimmingly until we hit the non-existant roadworks. You know the sort - a couple of miles of dual carriageway reduced to one lane for no apparent reason whatsoever. It lost us just over an hour, and meant that we had to head straight for the game. Ah well, there’ll be a clubhouse I thought - I’ll curl up with my book in there. But this is Welsh non-league football, which I soon learned meant very few creature comforts. After barely surviving the first half in the cold wind and rain, on the most uncomfortable plastic chair in the history of posterial accommodation, and ingesting half of a pretty foul cheese and pickle cob, I gave up and went to sit in the car. It was much more comfortable and dry, and didn’t have some increasingly hysterical ardent fan screeching “come on Daffyd, kick the bloody ball” in my right ear. It was however nowhere near as nice as the hotel, which, when we finally got there, was possibly the nicest place I have ever stayed in, and had a yummy looking lunch menu - talk about rubbing it in!
