Since last we spoke, the Young Squire has departed to university, then my spine promptly shit the bed and everything from the high-waist down pretty much locked up, sciatica down the back of the lower legs and tops of the feet. Hardly ideal.
Ice on the swelled bits, heat on the muscle groups, a steroid, muscle relaxer, very restricted, physical therapy, the battle has been engaged.
The fortnight now passed has been a truly frustrating one, so stayed away from the Club until I could speak with a little positivity again. I feel like I've been in a thumping pub-brawl but without the fun of having been in a pub-brawl. I really don't even know what triggered this. Oh, well...
I finished a well-researched and unflattering tactical review of the WWII Italian campaign called "Tug of War", then an interwoven trio of biographical sketches comparing Monty, Patton, and Rommel. Just starting a bio of Frank Whittle.
The weather has been lovely but events conspired to keep me from the racecars (Grrr!) since Tuesday. I hope to get the "B" out for a sedate cruise with Memsahib; soft suspension and large cabin on that car, which is why she adores it. I don't think the track suspensions on the other two and the behaviours they encourage are in my best interest at this moment. Grin!
Meanwhile, the Pride are doing their best to enforce the rest-orders both by physically holding me down...
...and setting the example.
The early morning sun blooming off Hobbes' fur was just this gorgeous golden colour. Amazing what little details in life head front-and-centre when you are restricted.