Just when I was beginning to think all my ridiculous shenanigans were coming to an end another mundane task presents an opportunity for my body to fuck me over.

Washing is one of the few constants in life (unless you’re a naturist of course!) and that is certainly true in our house. Living on one level now means it is, at least, a lot easier for me to do… whoopee-do. Run the washing machine, unload onto my walker and take to the bedroom where I hang it on the airer to dry. Simples. It’s especially convenient because I can perch on the edge of the bed while I do it.

At the weekend Nigel had popped out so I set about getting it done. Machine run I unloaded it onto my walker and headed to the bedroom. I’m a bit specific on how I hang it all up; smalls on the bottom, t-shirts and sweatshirts in the middle and longer items at the top. So, bottom and middle “rungs” done all that was left was the top and from my perched position I have to then stand to arrange the clothes, something I’ve done many a time now. Up I get and, one handed, I grab the offending trousers and drape them over only I was starting to lose my balance so I began to sit back down. All fine you think? HA! As I sit my shitty legs decide that that exact moment is a good time for a full on extensor spasm, throwing me back onto the bed, as straight and as stiff as a plank of fucking wood (Shame not shaped like one, more of a gnarly old tree trunk 🙄). So I lay there waiting for it to pass, grateful at least for the soft landing – could’ve been a whole lot worse. Once it does pass and I go to move I remember that I can’t roll over without something to get a hold of. That’s right people, I’m now more useless than a 6 month old fucking baby and seeing as I was smack-bang in the middle of a king size bed, I was well and truly fucked…

I was pleased to hear the husband arrive back outside just a few minutes later, hallelujah I was saved! But no, he was having a chat with the neighbours, laughing away. Just as I thought to myself “alright chuckles, fucking hurry up” he came through the front door. Only he walked straight past the bedroom to the lounge to greet the bastard dog, leaving me still laid there like a damn felled tree. A few mins later he appears “oh, there you are” followed by “would you like a hand” and he did of course help me up. Turns out even laundry isn’t a safe activity for me to do these days. I think I’d better charge my Apple Watch for such occasions..