Listening to: this
Belated RIP: Lux Interior (The Cramps)
Good news: Another richly-deserved award for Elbow
Bad news: it was a corporate, credit-card-sponsored Brit
Speaking of which: did you see Seasick Steve at the ceremony? Denim jacket and baseball cap amid the suits and fat-arsed record company execs.
"Have you got insurance?" asked Dr Karl as he poked at the football-shaped blob that was once the pig "farmer's" knee.
"Why, are you branching out?"
A few days earlier I'd been looking up at the pig shed roof, wondering just how badly I'd hurt my back in the fall, whether I was glad my fall had been broken by a large pile of pig crap and whether I'd imagined that wrenching sensation in my right knee.
As it turned out, I had three jumpers on which had protected my back, the pig crap would wash out and, yes, I'd buggered my trick knee for the umpteenth time. I tried to "run it off", then a weekend of total rest while Sal worked herself to a state of exhaustion, but after two sleepless nights I waved a metaphorical white flag and went down to the doctors.
"You have damaged the medial ligaments. This could take up to six weeks to heal. You need rest and a little light exercise, but be careful on uneven ground," said Karl, more in hope than expectation. "Some farmers have insurance which would cover them."
I had visions of the pigs at teatime. . . "sorry everyone, my knee means I can't feed you, but the good news is I'm insured - see you in six weeks."
I promised I'd be careful and get help when necessary and Karl - a decent bloke and by some distance the best GP I've had - took the precaution of thrusting a pack of very strong, slow-release painkillers into my hand before I left.
So, I've spent the last few days hobbling about the place like a Robert Louis Stevenson pirate - minus the parrot, of course. Arrrrrgh!