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Me and Trina do not have sex
One of my current assignments is serving fattening, unhealthy food to fat, unhealthy people, in a works canteen. After my shift, I am turning my scooter on at the works gate, where they all go to smoke. "Right goodnight then," I say to Ten Ton Teddy, whom I served earlier. He interrupts rolling his cigarette to say "have fun on your illegal scooter." "Yeah!" I say, laughing.
Wish I'd had the presence of mind to say "well, they don't suit everyone. You've got to be under a certain weight to ride them for a start."
To Lancaster, to wave my eldest off to Moscow, where she's got a job as a English assistant in the State system there. My damaged leg moans all weekend and I spend money on taxis to avoid the ten-minute walk to Kirsty's house.
I have a couple of days with Trina on her narrowboat and another overnight at her house. Our years-long reconciliation is complete, and I have a happy, drunken, sexless time with her. One morning, I am making an omelette for our breakfast. "I think you're wonderful," she says, wrapping her arms about me.
On Trina's urging, I give in to the irritating limitations of my injury and "go" to the doctor, by filling in an online form. Two hours later I am booked in for an X-ray in Bristol, as they want to eliminate a fracture.
Outside the hospital, dozen of people with visible and invisible disabilities are puffing away under no smoking signs. In radiology, I am met by a rangy African man who shines the sinister rays through my groin. I am embarrassed about my unimpressive credentials showing up on the photograph.
I am informed later that there is no fracture, but there's muscle damage and a bit of arthritis in my hip. On the doctor's advice, I buy an arthritis kit from B&M Bargains.
I go to buy some coffee. The young man in the shop describes the flavour as "funky". I am tempted to say that there is a now obsolete sense of that word which refers to the smell of a vulva, but instead I proffer a tenner. I am told I have to pay by card. "Amazing," he says.
Outside the shop, a homeless beggar says of my scooter, "that's cool that." I straighten up with pride and go off down the road with perhaps exaggerated acceleration.
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