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Sunday, 26 October 2014

Out with the old... (Part 2)

LAST week I gave you the sorry tale of my first six months of 2012. In a shock move, here’s the skinny on the last six.

EM Peter Grenville column
Peter Grenville

July: British Grand Prix! Unadulterated joy! Succeeded on saying nothing of any use on Twitter for two whole years. Just like everyone else. It rained a lot.

August: After months of back pain, I finally started seeing a physio, with amusing results. Especially if you happened to be looking through my window when I was doing exercises.

Luckily, the police let me off with a caution and said I should remember to put clothes on before attempting the “arch”. It rained a lot.

September: Moved offices, to a room where you can hear chaps having a tinkle next door. Worryingly, we can now figure out who some of the tinklers are, by their signature style.

Coincidentally, it rained a lot.

October: Discharged from physio – I swear I saw them writing “beyond economical repair” on my file.

Immediately started having problems with my left foot feeling numb and tingly, causing me to limp. That and the hunched back have meant I’ve had to keep away from bell-ringing. It rained a lot.

November: Discovered Mrs G had already purchased and wrapped all the Christmas presents and written cards, making me think I’d lost a month. The limp, plus full beard and mud-coating, caused local Yeti-sighting panic when I went out for a hobble along the coast. Made it to six years in Arnside without being chased from the village by an angry, torch-wielding, mob. It rained a lot.

December: Had an MRI scan in a portable building to try and diagnose foot problem. At least, I think it was... I might have just fallen into a particularly noisy disused fridge.

After the physical setbacks, I finally managed the 200 miles on the 30th. I also managed to lose 8lbs (which is good – that means more chocolate, right?).

Completed the 37th newspaper column for this august journal, proving that you can have too much of a bad thing too. It rained a lot.

Conclusion: A mixed year, during which complaining about stuff to anyone that would listen (and still complaining about stuff even if they weren’t), didn’t win me any kind of award. Not even an MBE, although to be fair, they probably ran out after giving them to everyone who took part in the Olympics.

What does the year hold in store? Move office again (the bin is full in this one already). Walk/limp 210 miles, and lose another half a stone. Grumble about things a bit in a weekly newspaper column. Build an Ark.

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