Post the Seventy-Seventh - imini emnandi kuwe, Tata Madiba!

Today is the 18th of July and it is Nelson Mandela's birthday. Had he lived to greet it, Tata Madiba (as he is affectionately known by most South Africans) would be ninety-four. It felt very odd writing that last part of the previous sentence. Due to the fact that he was alive for nearly a century, as well as the huge presence he had around the world as well as in South Africa, to be celebrating his birthday in his absence is...new, and I guess we haven't got the blueprint for how to do it, especially with all the mixed emotions that will come up.

However, in South Africa, sadness is always met with joy - and if anyone knows how to party it's us. So hopefully we can honour his day and his memory as he would have wanted us to - with fun, laughter and friendship. I only wish I could be over there myself, but we will light a candle and sing tonight. 

Imini emnandi kuwe, imini emnandi kuwe... 

We love you, Tata.

Post the Seventy-Sixth - perpetual beginning and ending

NB: I should note here that this post is the first in another series of backdated entries so, although it is marked as 17th July, I am actually writing it a full ten days later on the 27th. Again, this is not due to a lack of subject matter, merely a lack of time - for which I once more profusely apologise. Several people have asked me what has happened to my blog, to which I can only reply 'dissertation', before attempting to make amends and catch up. I would say this won't happen again, as I did before, but that clearly wasn't true or successful. So I'll simply try to make my way through the backlog.

Having posted yesterday about the pride and congratulations I wish to give to those of my Warwick friends who have reached their own graduations, and how I can't quite believe it's been a year since mine, today I want to do something similar for my current cohort of friends and colleagues at RADA. For, whilst we have yet to reach graduation, this week brought with it the performances of those of us who decided to stage a work-in-progress piece as part of our practical dissertations. I am writing a play, so this does not apply to me, but I have attended most of the productions. Unfortunately I can't go tonight, because I have had tickets for something else for months, but I know that the performance will be as brilliant as all the others have been.

That is why I am proud. My friends have exhibited the diversity and the complexity of their imaginations, dealing with a range of topics in a variety of different styles, and they have shown the real power and joy of theatre - anything is possible, if you can think it up. Most importantly, they have given it their all, and done so with style, grace and professionalism. If these are 'works-in-progress', then I can't wait to witness the finished articles, should they choose to develop them further.

Yay MA T&P - what a wonderful year we've had!

Post the Seventy-Fifth - time warp

This is a very weird post for me to write, not least because I didn't expect to be blogging still and therefore to have a place to mark it. A year ago on this date (although not this day - it was a Tuesday) I graduated from Warwick and walked to collect my degree. A whole year has passed. How is that possible!? Yet it feels like yesterday - and the thought that I managed it, surrounded by family and dear friends, still fills me with unbounded joy. The memories could not be more vivid.

Somewhat ironically for a literature student, however, I'm finding it difficult to formulate words - and, anyway, today isn't about me. It's about my friends and fellow students from the English dept who have collected degrees of their own this afternoon.

So, congratulations, lovelies! Wish I could have been there to watch and I hope your day has been as memorable as you deserve it to be!

Post the Seventy-Fourth - another homage to hydro

I know I said I wouldn't write about hydro for a while, so apologies for boring you by bringing it up again, but I just wanted to express my unbounded gratitude for the sessions and the positive effect that they have on my body. They're teaching my muscles to open up (and wake up!). They're also really helping my sleep (in general, although the night after I'm always rather achy) for which I am particularly thankful. Exhaustion is not my friend, it's true, but stretches in hot water certainly are - and I love them for it.

Post the Seventy-Third - balance

Suzy came again today and we did some great work. One of the things I have to remember about this process, though, is that slow and steady wins the race - by which I mean that I have to go with my body and listen to what it tells me, rather than going full pelt and then exhausting myself because I'm not quite ready to get there yet. 

It is a tricky balance to strike because I've a tendency to be a perfectionist and overwork myself. I'm writing this post to document my decision that from this day forward that must stop. We'll see how long that lasts, because I'm sure I decided something similar  during Walking by 2013, but I thought having it written down might help.

Post the Seventy-Second - brain games

Last night we went to the Young Vic to watch the final performance of The Valley of Astonishment. It was a co-creation of Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne, an ensemble piece beautifully portrayed by (the magnificent) Kathryn Hunter, Marcello Magni and Jared McNeill, along with musicians Raphaël Chambouvet and Toshi Tsuchitori. There was no plot as such. Although the narrative was centred around the story of Sammy Costas, a woman with a particularly fascinating memory, the piece was more concerned with the insights that she (and other characters, multiroled by her fellow actors) could offer into the workings of the human brain than what actually happened to them individually throughout the course of the play - most of what would be called 'plot' came from back stories.

Aside from Sammy, there was a man whose synaesthesia caused him to see colours whilst hearing music, and another guy whose paralysis had destroyed his proprioception (his sense of his body in space), which meant he had to use his eyes to direct his movements. If he couldn't see, he'd fall over - and this is where I was most intrigued.

When I was little, I was often asked to be a 'model' for physiotherapy students, and to participate in training courses. The students would work with me (and other kids) every day for two weeks or so, hoping to gain a deeper understanding of paediatric physical disability. I did loads of rounds of this sort of thing, over several years, but naturally there are particular incidents which leap out of my memory. 

The one relevant to today's post involved the course leader asking the students to watch me sitting independently on a plinth and to note the stability of my trunk and how well my feet were grounded. He then blindfolded me with a towel, and I crumbled, feeling really wobbly and completely off-balance.

I learnt a huge lesson that day, never mind the students: I hadn't realised how much I was using my eyes until they were taken away, if only for a moment. All my focus and concentration was rooted in my sight, but it was so unconscious that I'd failed to notice my reliance. Since then, for about the last fifteen years, I have worked to improve my proprioception - and I think I can now safely say that I can do most things without the involvement of my eyes being absolutely necessary. Even so, after a while I begin to feel wobbly and unstable, and I'm not yet back to the place where I can sit on a plinth (or the edge of my bed) on my own and feel totally secure.

I identified with that particular character a lot, feeling great empathy for the manner in which he lived his life, and his story provoked many different emotions for me. It made me think about how everything is relative. In some ways, he is condition was much more severe than mine. After all, cerebral palsy doesn't equate to paralysis (as I am so often having to remind people!), and I don't fall over if I shut my eyes. However, I often feel as though I might, and I know my issues with proprioception are responsible for the motion sickness I sometimes experience in the car. Moreover, he had managed to get himself back in to better physical shape than I have, and he could walk. This would leave him as the more able of the two of us in the eyes of medical professionals, were it possible to compare a real person with a fictional character.

So, thanks to the concept of relativity, the subjectivity of human experience and our ever-growing understanding of the abilities and possibilities of the brain, I am inspired. If a man with difficulties with proprioception which affect him so significantly that he falls over if he closes his eyes is still able to walk, then so am I. So will I. More than that, I'm well on the way, and I'm hugely enjoying the journey through my own valley of astonishment.

Post the Seventy-First - silver linings

I thought about calling this post ate seven', but that would've been disingenuous, because nothing has actually happened with my chair since I last wrote about it. Or, rather, nothing bad has happened. So I chose the title 'silver linings' because today I think I discovered one of the reasons my chair broke.

I don't believe I've mentioned the number of chairs we've had in this house at various points over the last few months. There were five, none of which worked. Two are perhaps obvious - my broken electric and a new manual the wheelchair clinic had sent but which wasn't modified appropriately for me to use. The other three were as follows:

1. my old manual, which no longer has a backrest or a seat
2. my old electric, kept in case of emergencies after the wheelchair clinic said they'd just scrap it, but no longer suits my needs and we've finally decided it must go.
3. an electric that a friend was no longer able to use, lent to us for my Papa to modify, if at all possible

It is this last one around which my post centres today. Papa was given free reign, so he took it away to perform the necessary adjustments (hopefully). Due to the fact that my friend has to have her chairs driven by an attendant, the joystick was positioned at the back, so the first thing he had to do was move that to the front. In fact, we thought that was the only thing he'd have to do, aside from some minor rewiring. It turned out, however, that the back brackets weren't compatible with my backrest and the footplates couldn't quite be persuaded to get to (or to simulate, with some help) a 90° angle.

So I couldn't use it, and it has sat rather forlornly in our passage - until today, that is.

One of my former helpers has two boys, the eldest of whom is sixteen, and a keen footballer. Unfortunately, in the last year, he has had to undergo treatment for brain and spine tumours. I won't go into details, because it isn't my story to share, but the effects of the treatment mean that he now finds it difficult to walk for long distances and hasn't really wanted to leave the house too often.

Mama and I were going to visit them today, when we suddenly thought about the chair, and the possibility of him using it. We phoned and asked if he'd like it. The answer was a resounding yes! I stayed at home, because we can't fit two big electric chairs in the car, and Mama went to deliver it - and when she came home she couldn't stop grinning and telling me how delighted he was to be able to play with his friends again without getting tired.

So I think that's why my chair broke. If it hadn't, we wouldn't have been given the other one to modify, and wouldn't have been able to offer it to him when it didn't work for me. The thought of his delight makes every single minute of the time I spent without power worthwhile.

I really mean that last sentence. I know what it's like to feel trapped by your body and unable to join in when you so desperately want to, and I'd do anything to ensure that he and others have a way out of that experience. That's why I'm fundraising for Starlight, of course, and why I will continue to do so for as long as I can think up new and innovative ideas. Yet it also felt super special to be able to grant a wish of sorts myself, not through money, but through coincidence of circumstance - being the right person at the right time.

Let's put it this way - I remember the freedom I felt when I first tried out a powered chair, aged five, and then when I got my own at the age of seven. To have been able to give that freedom to someone else feels even better.

I'm just so happy he can go out again. Now we can race ;)!

Post the Seventieth - cut off

It seems apt that my seventieth post is one filled with joy. You might not guess that from the title, though, so allow me to elaborate. 'Cut off' is there because it has two potential meanings for me. The first is isolation and, indeed, I've been well-acquainted with that feeling. The second can evoke new beginnings, however, and it is that to which I refer today.

After more than two months of being able to leave my house only on rare occasions because of my chair, my hair had grown rather long. My hairdresser is just around the corner, but they have a tiny step that requires the power of my chair to get up it, and I had to wait. So to celebrate my chair being fixed at last, yesterday (as well as having my wonderful lesson) I went and had it chopped. I haven't taken photos, because it's simply been restored to its usual bob (and it's extremely difficult for me to take a selfie!), but it feels fantastic, as well as symbolic that I marked the end of one 'cutting off' by having another! Puns, puns, we love puns...!   

Post the Sixty-Ninth - finding my voice again

Today was a fabulous, fabulous, day. I had my first voice lesson in an absolute age (of the musical, not the spoken variety, that is) and it felt so lovely to sing again. After a much-needed catch up and some vocal exercises, I had a proper sing-through of a piece by my beloved GF Handel, and my teacher said that she's really pleased with the way that the work I've been doing at RADA has impacted my voice. My speaking voice has found its correct placement, just as my body is doing, and it has taken my singing voice with it. Some of the new qualities that have developed will be due to the maturing of my vocal chords, she says, but mostly they're due to the physical and personal confidence I've gained from my course. 

I'm still definitely a mezzo, too, which is great because I've always preferred exploring characters like Carmen and Charlotte (and my favourites, the breeches roles of the eighteenth century) to those written for sopranos. Not that Violetta and Tatyana aren't beautiful - they just don't get into my bones as much.

So now my teacher is thinking of potential new repertoire, I'm preparing for a recital, and I have something to fill the gap left by the practical work we did over the first two terms but which stopped to give us time for our dissertations. I'm not sure which excites me most - the singing, or the fact that it will do such good things for my body and keep me on an even keel. Lots of people have commented on how my posture has improved over the past year, and they've asked how I plan to continue that improvement. Well, this is how, because posture is one of the most important aspects of singing - and now that my schedule is slightly less hectic I can fit it in. Even after just one lesson it's made such a difference to my intercostal muscles! Yay!

Post the Sixty-Eighth - hurrah for hydro

I had hydro again yesterday - which was a big deal because it meant that the pool is finally stable again and Friday wasn't a one off. I probably won't write about it for a while now, since I know that hearing about the same things over and over again can be boring, but I wanted to document yesterday's session for two reasons.

Firstly, I was premenstrual. You can ick all you want about the fact that I've mentioned my cycle online (I had doubts about covering this aspect myself) but the fact is I am a woman, women should be allowed the freedom and respect to write about whatever they like on the internet, and my monthly cycle has frequently had a significant impact on my physical ability. For instance, in the weeks leading up to my period (yes, I have actually typed the word), my muscles are usually very tight and my spasms increase a great deal. 

However - and this is why I broach the subject now - in the pool yesterday I was able to shake that off, and to relax, which brings me to my second point. During my stretches, we/I managed to get both my legs within in mere inches of completely straight. I've not been that flexible in years on a good day, never mind on a day when I'm hormonal.

So the moral of the story is - I control my body. My body does not control me. I can't quite express just how good it feels to be able to state that.

Post the Sixty-Seventh - resistance is helpful

Suzy came yesterday and we had a brilliant session working with resistance bands to strengthen my arm muscles - both the right and the left! That was huge for me, because I didn't think the left would co-operate, but we got some good work done. I don't have pictures (our hands were rather full, understandably) but I'm super excited to see how this progresses!

Post the Sixty-Sixth - what I went to school for

From the title of this post, and from the fact that the first thing I did was work on a dissertation draft, you probably won't get how much fun was had yesterday - unless, of course, you're a (British) child of the 90s and the early 00s. Then you'll know immediately that it's a reference to the title of a Busted song and, from there, you might just guess what I was up to...maybe! Haha.

For those of you who haven't/won't have guessed, I spent the afternoon and evening in Hyde Park at the British Summer Time festival (which could not have been more aptly named, as it turned out, but more on that later) watching McBusted (Busted and McFly combined) and the Backstreet Boys! The Backstreet Boys. Before I get effusive to the point of incoherence, though (and because I want to be able to explain things properly), I'm going to start at the beginning and work through the day - minus the dissertation, naturally, despite it taking over my morning!

So. I was in the company of my dear friend Hattie (Heather, not Harriet - she wears hats a lot) who came up to stay from Surrey. It was an exciting day for us both, because Hattie had never been to a gig, and I'd never been to a festival. Things to tick off our lists - literally, in Hat's case, because she turns thirty at the end of the month and has a list of the thirty things she wants to do before then. I think she's down to the last four now.

Anyway (because Hat will hunt me down if I talk too much about her) we were super excited, and kept giggling like schoolgirls in the car on the way there. I suppose that was allowed, really, because the day would be filled with the music we listened to while we were at school - hence the choice of title for this post. It was only when we arrived and Mama very kindly dropped us off, though, that the excitement really began - because we realised just how well thought through the access facilities for the event had been. We had arranged a spot on the wheelchair viewing platform, but we didn't expect there to be golf buggies with ramps (ramps!) to ferry us there. I'd never seen them before - mostly you can only use buggies if you can transfer out of your chair - and was really impressed! I felt like I was in South Africa staying with my cousins and that we were on safari, not in the middle of London. Thanks, Hyde Park!

Once inside the festival, we were told where to go to get wristbands (yay wristbands!) that would allow us into the accessible area, and we clocked just how many people there were. The vibe was incredible, and we were still only by the entry gate, nowhere near our allocated spot. The sky was an amazing blue, the sun was streaming down, and it all seemed rather surreal. Wristbands on, we found our way to the platform, where we also found my friend Savannah, who had managed to use her guest pass to sneak in and say hello. She was there with her best friend Gi, wife of Tom (one of the guys in McFly), and their new baby Buzz, who was chilling out somewhere in the shade with his noise-cancelling earphones on. It was lovely to catch up (Sav's currently very busy being her brilliant self and playing Glinda in the West End production of Wicked) with a backdrop of the music of The Vamps, who were new to me but great. We took what I think is my first ever selfie:

Which prompted Hat and I to try and take one of the two of us, as well:

From the above photo you'll also be able to gauge the size of the viewing platform. This was another reason to be impressed - we had thought that there would be room for maybe three or four wheelchair users, because that's usually the maximum capacity in most venues, but I'm sure there were about thirty of us (maybe even fifty!), plus our chosen companions. That was great, because it meant that we had the same vibe in our little section as there seemed to be everywhere else - people mucking around, doing silly dances, and generally having a wonderful time - and that was before the Backstreet Boys came on!

When they did, Hat and I did a quick calculation, and worked out that most of the people with whom we were sharing the platform probably weren't born when the band formed. This fact was confirmed about halfway through the hourlong set when they mentioned that they started out in 1993 - when Hat was nine and I nearly two. But, apart from making us feel old, having missed out the first time around didn't seem to impact the fourteen-year-olds at the front from enjoying themselves immensely - it would appear that nineties pop music transcends time and age. We, of course, completely revelled in the nostalgia. As Long As You Love Me and I Want it That Way played and I was right back at primary school. Their new stuff was good, obviously, but not quite the same - and we were worried for a while that they'd leave out Everybody (Backstreet's Back) in favour of publicising the new album. I'd forgotten that that's one of the oldest tricks in the book when it comes to gigs, though, to leave the best for last. So we got to witness the dance that we had both spent hours (separately) trying to learn:

Which was a good thing too because, by this point, it had already poured with rain several times - as you can see from the few pictures below - but we didn't mind. It's sort of a prerequisite of a British festival, hence my comment earlier about this one having a particularly apt name, so we felt we'd been truly inducted. It gave us the opportunity to muck around in the break between acts with the puddles that had developed on the platform, and to take the last of the photos in the group below. That's how much water there was - we could see our reflections!

One of the things I didn't expect at all about the festival experience was how quickly the time went. I had thought the five hours that we were there (from 5-10pm) would feel like an age but, after we'd taken those photos and had a catch up, there were about five minutes until McBusted were due on. And then they duly arrived, flying in on a car, in beautiful homage to their mutual inspiration, Back to the Future.

Now, my twenty-two-year-old self did have a moment of wondering whether I should be quite as excited as I was about watching this lot live. I've never been a fangirling type of person, so my enthusiasm surprised me. It was as though I was ten and twelve again - but then I realised this was precisely why I should be excited, because hearing the music of these two bands again allowed me a glimpse back into the past, as well as forward into the future. It struck me as especially apt that it was both rainy and sunny at the same time, too, because (to use that favoured device of literature students everywhere, pathetic fallacy) the jumble of weather mirrored my mixed up emotions. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or to cry, because the memories were so vivid. From the moment the first notes of Air Hostess rang out, until we heard the final chords of Year 3000, I was back at secondary school discos and dancing with my friend Vicky. Boyfriends forgotten for a bit, we would rock out in sisterly solidarity, trying our best to look 'cool' (whatever that was) with our bottle green uniforms and our attempts at dancing in our chairs. I found myself filled with giggles at the things we did, all these years later, whilst also being very sad that we wouldn't be doing them again. A lot can happen in just over a decade, it turns out - not only can bands break up and reform, but friends can pass away. That said, my overwhelming feeling was of joy, because the music gives me such a powerful and long lasting link to my dear friend - as well as a reminder that it's possible to move onward and upward without forgetting, and that she would hopefully be proud of me for doing so. Here, again, the weather matched with what I was thinking - and, indeed, with the music. About halfway through the gig, just as the bands began to play McFly's breakout hitFive Colours in Her Hair, a glorious double rainbow appeared above the stage. It was perfect, for the song and for Vicky.

It was also just what I needed to bring me back into the present, grinning and hopeful, to bop my way through the rest of the night. I sang along to every single song, the lyrics as familiar as bedtime stories, although they were brought up to date brilliantly with the use of emojis and things as subtitles - and a very cleverly incorporated clip of Tom's groom's speech in the introduction to Crashed the Wedding. Then there was the casual transition to the flying saucer, of course...! And the flames picking out the name of the joint venture, McBusted enshrined in fire. Just, you know, because that's what one does when one plays to over 50,000 people in Hyde Park, I suppose. That, and pretend to start your set all over again, before finishing on a high with that quintessential tune of the year 2000 - Year 3000 - because it would seem that it's human nature that once we reach one milestone we're already looking forward to the next.

It. Was. Ace. (The sci-fi didn't end with the concert, either, because we got to ride back in the dusk in one of those awesomely accessible golf buggies. Yeah!)

So. This has been a massively (and overly) long post about a massively (and overwhelmingly) amazing day. Apologies for rambling, but I hope you got a sense of just how great it was.

I'd like to end by saying a huge thank you - to Hattie for coming, to Sav for the catch up, and to the McBusted gang for being brilliant. Without wanting to be too OTT, you gave me the soundtrack to my teenage years, and I'll never forget that. You really were what I went to school for.

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Post the Sixty-Fifth - elated exhaustion

Today was an amazing, amazing day, but I'm too tired to write anything coherent tonight. More (in the form of a proper, lengthy, post with pictures and everything!) tomorrow.

Post the Sixty-Fourth - hydromatic

Yesterday was a happy day, because I was back in the hydrotherapy pool after a break of nearly two weeks, which felt like an age. The pool pump has been broken (it still is, but things are workable now), so they've had to hand-dose the chlorine, and somehow a pretty nasty strain of bacteria developed. But the bug is gone at last, and we're allowed to swim.

It wasn't a majorly special session physically, just more of the usual stretches, but it was momentous because it was allowed again and the water felt wonderful! I'm such a mermaid.

Post the Sixty-Third - baby book

Note: It is now the 9th of July, and I haven't posted since the 3rd, for a full six days. However, this was simply due to lack of time (thanks, dissertation!) and not for a want of things to write about, so I am now catching up. I just wanted you to be aware of this, dear readers, because I am going to be publishing the next few entries with the date that they refer to (for instance, this one was to be written on the 4th) to avoid having six posts dated the same day - and I'd hate to confuse you by doing that without warning. Also, this won't happen again, because a) I am now on top of my schedule and b) I already know when I'll next be away from my blog for a lengthy period of time, so I can queue posts up, and warn you then as well.

Last night I attended a rehearsed reading of a dear friend's play, which I had had the honour of giving feedback on in its earlier stages. I won't tell you what it's about, because it'll hopefully get picked up for production, and I don't want to spoil. I will say two things. Firstly, it's brilliantly written, and deals with several rather sensitive subjects in a nuanced and enlightened manner. Secondly, there is mention of a baby book - one of those volumes which can be filled in with the dates of your child's first smile, first haircut, first steps etc - and it is this that I take as the subject of today's post.

I found the references to the book incredibly touching even whilst reading the play alone on my computer, and the performance only reinforced that emotion. Why, I hear you ask, and what is the relevance of this to your blog? Well, without giving anything too crucial away, the book comes up because bits of it haven't been able to be completed - and that resonates deeply with me. The thing is, we have that book, or one like it. It's called Our Daughter, my parents got it soon after I was born, and it sits on the bottom of one of the bookshelves in my bedroom. Big deal. Most people have something similar, right? Right, but Mama and I were looking through it a while back - long before I got asked to read the play - and there are bits missing from mine, too. Principally, and logically, the dates I first stood, and took my first steps. I couldn't really understand at first why I felt such an emotional connection to that part of the script but now, on remembering my own book, it makes perfect sense.

Yet there is a difference between me and the characters in the play - though perhaps it is simply that I have progressed further than they towards being at peace with my past. Instead of that blank space, that unfilled gap, making me sad, it gives me hope. It inspires me to choose for myself what the date will be when I take my first steps and it fills me with anticipatory joy at being able to write that in my book.

So, this is a post to thank my dear friend Sam - for allowing me to read your play, for having me as part of your life, and for (once again!) providing me with a reason to keep on and have a really good go at this walking lark. It's hugely appreciated.  

Post the Sixty-Second - chair update six

Don't worry, my chair is fine, and still fixed. The reason for the title of today's (backdated) post is that we were given an appointment (a cancellation) at the wheelchair clinic. The new micro-switch and the wheels had arrived and needed to be fitted, and they would also be able to turn up the speed of the motors, meaning that it could get me across the road safely again.

Or so we thought. It turned out that the only item that was there was the switch - which was great, of course, because I no longer have to rely on the rather precarious modification of a few wires. However, the whole issue began with the rickety wheel putting undue strain on the motors, so for the four or five weeks that must elapse until the new one gets here there is the worry that it might happen again. Also, the engineer (my favourite, who knows me really well) unfortunately wasn't aware that I was coming, because it was a cancellation slot, so he hadn't brought the programmer to turn up my speed.

We found out all of this in the course of a two-hour appointment, which was that long despite the switch being fixed in just fifteen minutes, because they had completely forgotten what was actually wrong. Cue many investigations from which they drew their original conclusions. Go figure.

That said, I don't want this to be a moan-filled post, so I shall end on a note of gratitude. I am so lucky my chair is maintained on the NHS. Sure, it's been a faff, but it would be even more of one if we had had to organise everything (diagnostics, parts, engineers etc) ourselves - not least because most companies in the industry refuse to deal with the public.

So, all in all, I'd say I've had a pretty good time of it - and we live in the right country. Praise be to National Health. Long may the service live.

Post the Sixty-First - bands and tape

I've had four hours of physical workout today. Suzy came in the morning to do an hour and a half of personal training and Jessie came this evening for two and a half hours of physio. It doesn't always happen like this (usually we try and spread things out a bit, to save spoons and to ensure my body doesn't get overwhelmed) but this week scheduling got the better of us all - and it was fine! I'd even go as far as to say it was good. My body was wonderfully compliant, and we made lots of discoveries and tried out a few things, the two most significant of which are mentioned in the title.

Firstly, whilst Suzy was working on my arm earlier, I pulled slightly against her - and, although it was involuntary,  the movement made her realise how much strength I have in my arm muscles. So she got me to do it again, actively, and was so excited with the result that she wants me to try out exercising with resistance bands. I've never done it before myself, but I've seen other people use them, so I'm very keen and intrigued.

Secondly, on a slightly smaller scale (at first glance, anyway), Jessie has got me trying tape. It bears a striking resemblance to ordinary plasters, but it's completely different once you feel it, because it's thinner and a lot stretchier. The stretchy quality is the reason we're experimenting with it - it works with the body's connective tissue to put muscles into an apparently minuscule stretch that actually is quite big, and it can have a huge impact on everything from core stability and posture (my area of need!) to the excessive saliva production that causes dribbling. I've currently got some across one of my ribs, to investigate the effect on my pesky intercostals, and in between my navel and the top of my pelvis. We shall see!

So, a good day, albeit a busy one (we also went to a matinée!) - it's nice to know that I possess at least some stamina!

Post the Sixtieth - sunny strolls

It's the first of July, this is my sixtieth post, and it's summer. So today is a post of gratitude for the simple joy of being able to take my dog for a walk - again. This isn't the first time since my chair was fixed (it was my top priority on the very same day) but it's still a novelty.

I have no pictures, because I wanted to focus on each moment as it happened, and I suppose that to most people it wouldn't seem particularly special. Yet it was, for me, so I just wanted to express my thankfulness.