Am so not dead!
What happened was, I took up poker (at which I am really rather rubbish) and, next thing you know, a year had gone past.
Then... I busticated my arm whilst making a heroic save of my good self and landed awkwardly on the sofa (natch, on the only hard bit). It took aeons to get an injection in the old appendage (see 'aeons' viz a viz 'NHS' equals 7 months, I kid you not!).
The syringe (horse sized and needle like a lance, am so not kidding) was filled with steroids and I don't care what the anti-doping councils of the world say, but that stuff is mustard!
All the doctors reckon I mungelated a bit of bone off one of my shoulder bones (connected to the arm bone) and have, what is known as in physician circles as 'a floating shard'.
So, am orf to have to have an X-Ray next week. However, in meantimes, I have been appointed a visiting physiotherapist called Jolly Hockey Sticks (she's really called something like Caroline Japp) but she's one of those people that you don't see much of anymore: foreboding product of a girl's boarding school.
Get this one: Jolly Hockeys came around the other week and Man Friday and self completely forgot she was coming. So, when she came back today she did all her usual agonising man-handling and then she said: 'Oh ho! Where were you two blighters last week then?'
And we did some grovelling and mondo sorries et cetera and guess what she said: 'You smell, you two, you really do.'
When she said that I nearly had a fit from laughing, I hurt all my cheeks.
She is about six feet tall and very sturdily built, with very sensible clothings and she says: 'Ho!' all the time. I totally love her!
Man Friday hates her. But she is really rather sexist i.e. Man Friday was doing the washing-up whilst she was trying to wrench my arm out of its socket and she cocked her head at poor old M.F. and said to me: 'You've got him well trained, ho!' And Man Friday's eyebrows nearly disappeared over the top of his head. I did some screaming in agony to distract us from the unpleasantness and Jolly Hockeys said to me: 'I say, you really are a baby!'
Jolly Hocksticks is so terrible that I adore her and think she should be preserved: she is obvious of a limited edition.
Man Friday thinks she should be put out of his misery.
We are having roasted beetroot and butternut squash for tea - huzzah!