So it was back to the physiotherapist yesterday to see whether all the sitting around I'd done had worked.
Now my physio operates out of a small prefab at the top of a hill, and there are three parking spaces there. This wasn't an issue when son number two drove me there on Monday, as he merely slowed the car down to a crawl and pushed me out of the passenger door. However, yesterday I drove myself there, and on getting to the carpark, it was obvious that there were no spaces, even for my Mini. Reversing back out onto the road, I drove down the hill into town, where I drove around two car parks before finding a space where I could leave myself enough room for me and the crutches to get out.
I now had to climb the steep hill to get to the physio. On crutches. Now I have navigated this hill on many occasions, usually with a squiffy husband or sister in tow, but doing it on crutches took it to another level. Gravity was not on my side, and I had to throw everything forward to propel myself up the 1:4. By the time I reached the physio's, the torn calf muscle was the least of my worries, and as I walked into the waiting room, I could see the receptionist struggling to decide whether to offer me a seat, a drink or a session with the defibulators.
Waiting for my appointment, something dawned on me. I had to walk back down that bloody hill on crutches in about half an hour's time. All I could imagine were those daft toys you used to throw at the window which then tip down the glass, over and over (well they did until their hands and feet got covered in fluff where they'd landed on the carpet too many times). Window Tumblers I think? Well that would be me. A crumpled heap of limbs (real and substitute) gently sobbing outside the Town Hall (the Window Tumbler equivalent of the window sill).
But it was good news! The physio felt that I had done so well over the last few days, that she took one of my crutches away, so now I had to learn a new Crutch Technique which involved me walking up and down the corridor, humming Jake The Peg under my breath whilst trying to get my co-ordination right.
So going down the hill back to my car was much better than I anticipated. At least I made it all the way down, remaining vertical with my dignity intact.
The trouble is, that when you only have one crutch, you lose all your symmetry. I found that I was listing over to the left to avoid putting weight on the right leg, and all of a sudden I realised who I looked like.
Mrs Overall from Acorn Antiques, that's who...