I was nearly 40, fat, part deaf and knew I was anything but A1, and so in line for a medical (war) pension.
When it came to the hearing test, I knew I was part deaf, and tried my hardest to fail.
I passed.
The SMO passed me as A1 as did the Dental Officer, although my "temporary" crown he assured me would last until I died didn't last until my birthday in August. That year.
When I went to clear at Station HQ, aka PSF, I got a signature from the SSAFA, and she asked me what trade I had been. Armourer I replied. Ah, bad knees and back she said, and handed me a load of war pension forms.

But the truth is my back is shot. I have two compressed discs, pressure from all sorts of ailments caused pain or sciatica.


I mention this as sometimes when I go on walks or rambles, I say my back is complaining or screaming. This is the background. But I will always push myself for the next great shot.

Anyway. Tuesday.
Another sunny but windy day dawned. I lay in bed, Jools got up when the alarm went off.

I get up and my coffee is waiting. Which is perfect.
Jools goes out for a walk, and I take the time to call my friend Tony in NZ to see how he is coping. He is doing fine, and it is good to spend 20 minutes catching up, but the clock ticks, and I have to do some phys and be ready for the early meeting at half seven.


Once that was done at eight, I make breakfast, brew a fresh cup of coffee and settle down to work.
It was a slow day, and I won't lie.
After a couple of hours, I go out for a walk, nothing too ambitious, but taking the track between the one taken at the end of last week and Windy Ridge, as I think I had only walked that once.



Oh well.
Back home for lunch of stir fry, with a double helping of noodles. Who knew they could be so filling?
Anyway, back to work.
I watch a documentary on the life of Ronnie Lane. A very talented guy, who got fed up with the music business and Rod Stewart, turned into a gypsy and tried to become a farmer, until his inherited MS made that impossible.

I was going to do another session on the cross trainer, but my legs ached, and then Gary called. So we talked and time slipped away, and before I knew it, it was half four, Jools would be home in an hour and I had dinner to make.
So I packed away the office, made sausage rolls with caprese and garlic bread to follow, and that was all rather wonderful.
After 48 hours off the booze, I had three glasses of red vino, and the world seemed better.
And that was another day in lockdown. We listen to the wireless. Drink coffee. And to bed. At nine.
1 comment:
Thanks for the mention and still going well here in New Zealand, today working the 7pm to 7am shift.
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