A funny thing happened to me on the way back from...
Which is odd, really. Because funny things are only supposed to happen to you on the way to places, aren't they? Theatres, mainly, I think...
Anyway. Back to the plot.
After four sessions of acupuncture (and the elimination of a lot of mewks), my lower back is a heck of a lot more mobile than it has been for a Very Long Time. Mobile is good, mainly. Mobile does, however, tend to lead to the audible clicking of a variety of newly-released and therefore rather over-excited facet joints. It's always a bit worrying when something goes "clunk" in your lower back, although it isn't always a problem. Some of the time, the joints are clicking back into their proper positions. Other times, however, they are clicking into Tightly Locked Mode.
Having managed to lock something up in my left hip by, oh, I don't know, breathing without due care and attention, or something equally rash, I brought my scheduled visit to the osteopath forward so that he could manually release what I had inadvertently trapped.
(He was, I should say at this point, very impressed by what Dr Liu has accomplished so far. Also, it was great fun to be able to mutter darkly through gritted teeth, "Acupuncture doesn't hurt like this", when he was digging his thumbs into my erstwhile-frozen-and-never-entirely-thawed left shoulder. Tee hee.)
By the time I'd had osteopathic manipulation on top of the acupuncture, I felt as though I was wearing seven league boots. I nearly cried with happiness. (Except my mother had come to meet me, so I didn't. Dignity in all things, and all that.) Various startled friends were the bemused recipients of a garbled text message about my new-found ability to take Giant Steps. (Oh, and can anyone remember which playground game that comes from? It's been bugging me since Friday. Thanks.)
Striding about like a woman possessed of a very long stride when I got back to town, I proceeded to weigh myself down with a variety of shopping bags. I was just trying to decide whether the combined weight of said bags was really too heavy to cart home from the bus stop when the heavens opened and I decided to go for the taxi option. (I have no great objection to getting wet, but that amount of rain makes pavements slippery and treacherous. I may be able to take giant steps, but that doesn't mean I'm remotely sure-footed.)
So, it's all going well. I've got a chatty driver who knows where we're going; I'm out of the rain; and the world generally seems like a fairly cheery place all round.
"Is it this next turning?", he asks.
"Yes. Sorry. I'd drifted off there for a moment."
"Drifted off, eh? Well, you'd be no good for me in bed, you wouldn't. Drifting off that quickly. You'd be snoring your head off before I'd even started."
"A ha ha ha, er, yes..."
We pull up to Bracknell Towers. Bless him, he grabs the Sainsbury's carrier bags out of the back and carries them up the garden path.
"Done a bit of grocery-shopping, have we? Pity you didn't buy any chocolate spread. Then you could have licked it off my naked body."
"A ha ha ha, er, thanks. Bye."
He was joking. I am 99.99% sure he was joking.
But. I get black cabs a lot when my capacity for walking any further has suddenly deserted me, and the drivers don't usually make faintly indecent suggestions involving foodstuffs to me.
Ok, so, on reflection, it was probably just coincidence that I happened to get this chap when my mobility was less impaired than usual. Which is a shame, really. Because I was hoping to be able to use what happened as evidence towards some sort of thesis in which I could have charted the correlation between degrees of crippiness and levels of flirting experienced. Still, the concept amused me briefly....