Reeling in the years
HEN I wake up I’ve begun to heave out of bed and groan in a way a horse does as it rolls. Sort of loud and unattractively guttural. When I sit on the sofa, I expel air like a burst beachball. Pfffffffft. My knees are rogered and if I go for a run I often have sharp pains that require me to hobble home awkwardly looking like I need the loo. When I sit for long periods my feet turn purple and when I fly I come off a plane with blotchy, tree-trunk calves, cankles and five fat, unpricked sausages on and I can regale others with my physiological conditions as if they were achievements, events to be celebrated. The average life span for a woman in the UK is 82.9 years, which means in five years’ time I’ll be on my way out so I ought to try remembering joyful milestones while I still can, rather than my wonky gait and puffy cankles.
