No... Not extra large, but 40, see?
Yes, I have trundled over that particular hill, and I must say the view is largely the same. Not perhaps where I imagined I would be sitting at 40 (in a wheelchair, and all), but if you think a little too much, it's a wonder I made it this far.
I have received a fantastic array of cards initiated by Penny, each containing a memory or impression of me from down the years. From standing in a doorway with my terry-toweling nappy around my ankles (I was three, OK?), to tales of excess or witticisms cast around like grain. I'm touched that people think well of me, as I must be one annoying bastard sometimes...
On the subject of this annoying bastard, my ego has been inflated after I was recognised in the street for the first time last week. It turned out to be someone whose brother was in an accident on his bicycle a couple of months ago and has a T4 spinal cord injury. I hope that he finds the book useful. It's always a bit weird thinking of people who are just embarking on the long and painful journey back to picking up their lives again.
I had a few pangs the other day. Once when R insisted that I take my shoes and socks off to play with her in the sand pit in the park. I really struggled to work out what to do. Seeing as I can't feel my feet, am I supposed to avoid getting sand between my toes? Or should I be avoiding getting sand in my shoes? I did remove my shoes and socks, mainly because I was told to by an insistent nearly-three-year-old, but all that happened is I longed to feel the sand between my toes OR in my shoes. Then when we got home in the evening I found myself looking at the steps up to the front door, and spent the minute or so on the annoyingly slow platform lift remembering how I used to run at the steps and clear them all with one stride. It's the simple, energetic exuberances of spontaneous movement that I miss most keenly.
I'm busy trying to play as much tennis as I can to minimise the embarrassment potential as I hurtle towards the National Wheelchair Tennis Championships at the end of next week. I must point out that I am competing the the Novice division, which I think is a great concept.
In fact, I don't know why this model isn't adopted for all major sporting events. The World Cup (novices, or just people who are rubbish at football), Test Matches...actually, come to think of it, England seem to be following this model already.
Right, I'm away to prepare myself for the latest magazine photoshoot. Ah, the glamour. What? No, it's not for a 'glamour' magazine, I just meant..oh, never mind.
Yes, I have trundled over that particular hill, and I must say the view is largely the same. Not perhaps where I imagined I would be sitting at 40 (in a wheelchair, and all), but if you think a little too much, it's a wonder I made it this far.
I have received a fantastic array of cards initiated by Penny, each containing a memory or impression of me from down the years. From standing in a doorway with my terry-toweling nappy around my ankles (I was three, OK?), to tales of excess or witticisms cast around like grain. I'm touched that people think well of me, as I must be one annoying bastard sometimes...
On the subject of this annoying bastard, my ego has been inflated after I was recognised in the street for the first time last week. It turned out to be someone whose brother was in an accident on his bicycle a couple of months ago and has a T4 spinal cord injury. I hope that he finds the book useful. It's always a bit weird thinking of people who are just embarking on the long and painful journey back to picking up their lives again.
I had a few pangs the other day. Once when R insisted that I take my shoes and socks off to play with her in the sand pit in the park. I really struggled to work out what to do. Seeing as I can't feel my feet, am I supposed to avoid getting sand between my toes? Or should I be avoiding getting sand in my shoes? I did remove my shoes and socks, mainly because I was told to by an insistent nearly-three-year-old, but all that happened is I longed to feel the sand between my toes OR in my shoes. Then when we got home in the evening I found myself looking at the steps up to the front door, and spent the minute or so on the annoyingly slow platform lift remembering how I used to run at the steps and clear them all with one stride. It's the simple, energetic exuberances of spontaneous movement that I miss most keenly.
I'm busy trying to play as much tennis as I can to minimise the embarrassment potential as I hurtle towards the National Wheelchair Tennis Championships at the end of next week. I must point out that I am competing the the Novice division, which I think is a great concept.
In fact, I don't know why this model isn't adopted for all major sporting events. The World Cup (novices, or just people who are rubbish at football), Test Matches...actually, come to think of it, England seem to be following this model already.
Right, I'm away to prepare myself for the latest magazine photoshoot. Ah, the glamour. What? No, it's not for a 'glamour' magazine, I just meant..oh, never mind.
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