Is It Christmas yet?

A few weeks ago when the bitterly cold weather started I had to curtail the figure painting sessions in my garden hobby hut as it took forever to heat the hut to acceptable levels never mind how much extra it added to the electricity bill.

I didn't complain.

The cold weather was followed by less cold weather and an awful (antediluvian) lot of rain which exploited some weaknesses in the triple layered felt roof of my hobby hut. A few bits of cardboard and some paper were reduced to a soggy mess. No figures, plastic or lead were harmed.

I didn't complain.

This last week has reduced me to a regular diet of Paracetamol (Acetaminophen to my American friends) and Ibuprofen (Advil or Motrin) as a severe cold or flu developed reducing my eyesight to a mini Niagara Falls as well as an insatiable desire to sleep, sleep and sleep a bit more.

I didn't complain.

A couple of days ago I hand delivered a parcel for my oldest daughter to her own bedroom (a room I rarely visit). On the way out I discovered a new shelf cunningly placed at my head height with a reasonably forceful head but leading to a frantic search for some cotton wool and an Elastoplast.

I didn't complain.

Today I dutifully loaded up the car with some trash and junk from previously mentioned eldest daughters redecoration project amidst a mighty gust of wind. A couple of former IKEA products rocketed down the street, one at head height I caught (being an ex-goalie (football/soccer) was useful and a second at shin height (shin pads would have been helpful) which I didn't.

I didn't complain.

About an hour later the inflated and bloody appearance of my shin prompted a telephone call to NHS 24 followed by a Minor Injuries Clinic visit, 6 X-Rays and a sticky pad dressing. The Nurse Practitioner was very gracious and commented on my youthful appearance despite being a septuagenarian.

I certainly didn't complain.

And now I find out that it's Christmas Eve tomorrow.