Coccyx Capers

The fight with the bathroom floor started to take its toll.
The pain in my right thigh was so persistant I had to take painkillers. Two trips to the osteopath, and the agony had only subsided a little.
I had bruised the old coccyx and I do mean ‘old’, I had compressed my lower back like a concertina.
More pain killers and another visit to the pullyouaboutlady.
Then I bought a train ticket to go to Leeds and see the ‘oosbind in The West Yorkshire Playhouse giving of his Judge Hathorne in ‘The Crucible’ .
Then my Voice Over agent called and asked me if I was free on Thursday.
I had my ticket, I had plans, I said I couldn’t do it.

And then I realised they needed/wanted me to do it, so I got B to call them – as I was driving – and tell them that I would cancel my life in favour of a choice voice over.
I wanted to see the old git, I had bought the ticket, I didn’t want to cancel, but there you go, the way of the free lancer.
And then, out of nowhere, a nasty little bug entered my body. I felt sick. I felt tired. I felt so out of sorts my eyes felt like bluebottle bug-eyes.
I was meant to be going into town to see a screening of a Bafta film, had to cancel.
My writing partner schlepped all the way from London, we did a mornings work and I had to take her home.
Took myself to bed, my body hurt when I turned over, I felt sick and listless. Nothing worse than an empty house for company when you feel rotten.
Waiting for the voice over confirmation.
In the meantime I had cancelled the cat sitter, the lift to the station and the cleaner.
Then I got the call, after all that the agency had gone with a man so why didn’t I use my ticket and go to Leeds.
I awoke on Thursday morning having reinstated the cat sitter, the lift to the station and the cleaner.
Packed an away day bag with my laptop, book and a change of outfits, optimistically believing I was better and ready for work
10.45 train to Charing cross.
Tube from London Bridge to Kings X.
A two hour wait for the 2.35 Leeds train.
So I sat outside, in the sun, in the middle of the farmers market. I had money to buy food, and the stalls were selling everything from delicious spicy bratwurst to homemade bread. All I could muster was a packet of blueberries.
There was no getting away from it I was still sick.
Swapped my backward facing seat to a frontward ride. A decent couple took pity on me. The girl next to me opened two bags of crisps. She crunched SO loudly my body winced, then she unwrapped a packet of pink coconut icing, the rustling of the paper sounded like a blunderbuss in my head, the smell of the sugar made me nauseous
Now I knew I was really sick.
Jim walked down Briggate and met me. We side kissed I didn’t want to give him my bug.
I sat in row ‘O’ and looked down on a marvellous set. The first half was sluggish, the interval came and I didn’t even manage water. The second half was riveting. The hanging of John Proctor at the end drew to a close a really good production.
I was breathless, witless and useless, and there was the first night party.
Canapes and conversation, I felt like I was heading up to the surface from 3 miles down in a dingy ocean hidden by a wreck covered in seaweed. So sick did I feel. I could hear conversations but they were somewhere in Davy Jones locker.
We arrived at Jim’s little flat. Up at least 32 stairs, I thought I was going to faint.
Onto Jim’s bed, into Jim’s bed, my body aching, my eyes bulging, my head swimming. Jim joined me but I couldn’t settle. So I got up and slept on the couch, under a heavy counterpane. My first night with my husband alone on a couch in Leeds.
Friday saw us taking his car in for its MOT.
It failed.
The lovely Seikh man, with his soft Leeds accent, said he could fix it within two hours. So we walked to MEENA’S. I had a full English Vegetarian with peppermint tea and Jim had some kind of bacon butty. We took the bus to the Co-op and bought provisions. Making the stairs again was a mission I can tell you. I collapsed onto his bed.
Then the number 12 to the garage to pick up his renewed car.
Jim drove me round Leeds, a little guided tour, into Roundhay Park, back to a pub for a pint of soda water with lime wedges, I couldn’t tell him quite how ill I felt.
Then he left for work. I lay on the sofa trying to watch telly but my eyes hurt so much I could barely make out the cobbles on ‘The Street’ let alone Graham Norton’s profile.
When Jim came home I was in the bed. It was his turn to sleep on the couch under the heavy counterpane.
Saturday morning and my coccyx was playing up, my eyes were scratchy, the thought of hanging around Leeds whilst he did two shows was too much to bare.
We took the No 13 down the hill and walked to the Station. I bought a Senior ticket to Tunbridge wells from Leeds, pecked him goodbye in BOOTS where he was buying Beechams Powders and corn plasters, when I boarded the 1.09 train back to the big smoke.
Took the 16.09 from London Bridge to TWells, and a taxi home.
Th cats were happy, I was mixed emotions, wanting to feel better but wanting to be with the old geezer.
Finally got to bed at 3.00 and slept cuddling King Solomon who in the end abandoned me.
I awoke to a drop in temperature but a big sun shining on the oak tree.
Had a bath to warm my toes, then to the supermarket to get a few things as the fridge was bare, then to Duddleswell Tea Rooms, with the dawter who came home to recoup after two late gigs. A plate of four scones – hot out of the oven – double cream, strawberry jam and a pot of Rooibosh for me and Builders for her.
It’s now 5.30 and believe it or not I do feel a little better but the bug has taken its toll, and my coccyx couldn care less that it’s causing so much discomfort, let alone the allergic bumps under my eye from the painkillers.
Next week can only get better. It must as I have three theatre shows, a voice over and a meeting. Roll on well being and optimum health goodbye buggering bug.