Monday 10th December 2018

The last time I stayed up all night was when I was back on the survey boats. Then it was because of work. Sunday night it was because I thought if I get into bed, I might not be able to get out again.

So, I sat in the office chair, watched MOTD2, wrote, edited shots, and generally whiled the night away.

I had Scully sitting on the footstool beside me, and Mulder in the bread basket over the other side of the living room. So, I wasn't alone.

I had meant to get up every half hour, but that slipped. So when I did get up, I had to huff and puff to stand up, then the final stretch to stand upright was the most painful of all. Much swearing under my breath.

Jools got up at half five, so I made breakfast, and the coffee and fed the cats.

I felt like shit.

Proper shit.

I called my boss at seven, eight in Denmark, to tell her that I would not be working that day. She was understanding.

Jools asked if she should stay home. It was tempting, but if I was alone, I would have to get up and do stuff for myself.

And for a while it worked out well, as the pain in my back faded and I felt a little better.

So I thought I would go to bed for a snooze.

I slept for four or so hours, waking up at half two, with the light fading outside, but feeling better than I should have. Only problem was that my back felt like it was back to square one again, aching like a bugger.

I sit in the office chair as the day fades. I call Jools to tell her I felt like shit, and that could she get fish and chips on the way back.

She could.

Sorted.

Battered sausage and chips, not that nice, but good enough as I don't have to cook, and as we ate it out of the wrapper, no washing up.

Jools makes a brew and we have an ice cream. I feel as down as I have for ages. But I have an appointment at the chiropractor in the morning, when I hope he can work magic with his fingers, but it seems inevitable that I won't be travelling to Denmark on Wednesday, when at the moment I can't even put on a pair of socks myself.