Imperfect End

It had been a pretty good day and I had managed to cook a chickpea curry without burning anything, when I headed down through the frosty night to visit the Air Cadets. All was going well when I moved onto the steps leading to the bridge over the railway line and promptly slipped, coming down hard on my bottom, more specifically my tailbone.

More out of shock than anything else, I stayed on the steps for a minute or two, trying to work out whether it was possible or sensible to move and how bad I felt. I was making some inarticulate noise, a sort of escalated version of the kind of grunts and moans a person of advancing years tends to emit when bracing themselves for a particular physical effort. A young woman with a dog came from the other end of the bridge and attended to me, which I found very welcome indeed. I can't remember what preceded it, but her statement 'Everybody knows who you are' struck me as the most moving thing I had ever heard. She introduced herself as Erica and asked me whether I could stand, and I felt I could, and did, and then felt giddy and sick, before I came to on the ground again. 'It's all right, you fainted', said Erica, repeatedly, as I found myself rather terrifyingly unable to speak though I was trying very hard to do so. I concluded I had better give up the attempt, until over the course of a couple of minutes my ability to vocalise returned. I have only ever fainted twice before, once alone, and had forgotten that's what happens. A second attempt to stand up was more successful, and Erica and her dog walked me home. It was a tremendous act of kindness and solidarity for which I was immeasurably grateful, and I much recommend you do the same if the occasion arises.

I didn't try to get to Squadron again. I was very, very sore going to bed, but with the application of painkillers I have been surprisingly mobile today and able to do everything planned, so I consider myself, yet again, very lucky indeed.