Wake up at 6.45am when the alarm goes off: I’m seeing my trainer at eight o’clock. Make a cup of coffee and switch phone on. See a message from trainer cancelling our session. Oh no.
Attempt to return to sleep but can’t. Watch last night’s episode of The Assassination Of Gianni Versace. It’s really so good: do watch it on iPlayer if you’re not already watching.
Make it to gym where do all my weights and physiotherapy exercises. When I arrive at the parentals, the fluffy monster is sleeping inside. Put him outside and he sits on the white plastic table, staring in through my window:
He really is the world’s laziest cat. He comes in another couple of times on this relatively warm, sunny day. I put him outside again and again.
Mum takes him to be weighed and he’s put on weight. Again. He’s on reduced rations but he hardly moves. I wish I could take him out for a walk.
See physiotherapist who is pleased with me. The pain has moved further up my back, into my thorax. We do some back exercises in the gym and he comments on how flexible I am. Tells me to keep doing all my exercise and to build up my walking on my non-dog-walking days. I’m not going to see him for three weeks now, due to holiday. He is hopeful that back will have improved by the next time I see him, on 12th April.
Come home and sleep.
Wake up and write. I’m writing about a relationship I had with a twenty four year old when I was thirty two, and as I write, it all comes flooding back – down to the book I read at his parental home: Nick Hornby’s Juliet, Naked. It’s amazing: when the writing is flowing it’s a kind of magic. I’ve done 6,140 words now.
Had better post this and have a bath and dress as my uncle’s coming for dinner.
The attached photo is today’s gym outfit.
Happy Thursday everyone!
*2009. Novel by Nick Hornby.