February 28th - D+11 The Smell of Victory

My 'embroidered cage' (see Feb 22nd post)

WARNING: The following post contains graphic descriptions of personal hygeine that may make you view the author with contempt.

World Exclusive!: Nothing has happened. A friend castigated me recently for the lack of regular activity on my blog and I pointed out that these first two weeks with plaster on have been a curious twilight zone where time stands still and nothing of any note happens. I plan to write this blog until I start playing football again in late August (that‘s right, literature fans - 6 more months of bilge!) during which time, I am reasonably confident something interesting will happen. I also hope it will usefully chart my recovery for others who have the same operation; I have come across a couple of other blogs that proved useful to me.

My leg plaster is removed on Wednesday, two weeks post op, and I will be put into an aircast - one of those plastic boots that Gerrard and Rooney wore to protect their metatarsals. That’s world famous footballers Steven Gerrard and Wayne Rooney. The difference is that the Sunday tabloids won’t be taking pictures of me hobbling out of my mock Tudor mansion to get into my Bentley. The aircast should be on for 4-6 weeks but is removable for physio and bathing (I pity the poor nurse who has to remove my plaster cast to face my withered limb, unwashed in 2 weeks). During this time I have my brother’s stag trip in Marbella and a friend’s wedding to attend, looking like a cheap cyborg - quite a ladykiller. Perhaps I could pass myself off as a professional footballer?…

So there really isn’t much to write about at the moment unless I start giving a daily update on my personal hygiene. And while I’m on the subject, I seem to have developed superhuman body odour that is relentless in the face of repeated showering. I’m sure this must be some sort of medical condition as a result of doing nothing but eating home cooked food and literally sitting on the sofa all day. I’m mildly disgusted by the acrid and pungent smell I permanently emit. Even on Kilimanjaro after 10 days without a shower, I don’t recall smelling so strongly of what can only be described as spiced petrol. I have found myself absent-mindedly sniffing my armpits during the day like some sort of wild chimpanzee or lazy adolescent curious at the smell of his own flatulence. I am also re-growing my luxurious ‘mountain beard’ although at the moment its ragged appearance gives me a startling likeness to Adrien Brody in ‘The Pianist’.

So, I’m a hopping, one-legged and bearded slob, who looks like a WWII refugee and smells like a canister of 4-star spiked with garam masala. Mothers, lock up your daughters…

Highlights & stats
Cups of tea per day: 3
Days until plaster removed: 3 long, long days
Current reading: Cat’s Cradle
Music: Beggin’ (Pilooski Re-edit), Frankie Vallie & The Four Seasons
New movies watched: 3 (Brief Encounter, The Player, The Rainmaker)