Grumpy old me

Righto.

Taken painkillers, completed physio, got ice pack thingy on, so why the dickens is it still stabbing away. It's a pain, this pain.

When I finally got to the ripe, old age of 60, (yep, sixty) I actually looked better than l felt. Great hairdresser, upholstered clothing and of course, make up. No wonder cosmetic surgeons do well. I'd have a consultation or three to enquire about baggy bits an' droopy eye lids.

The horrid thing that's affected my newly found, semi-retired tranquillity, is a bloomin' sore knee.

Osteoarthritis!

Elderly folk 'ooooh' and 'aaaah' with each other, rubbing their problem joints with gnarled hands, complaining of how much worse it is in cold weather. I never dreamt l'd be in their orthopedic shoes. Gawd. Shu' up will you? You've not got a life threatening disease.It's just old age. It creeps up. What did you expect? Eh, EH?

Well. Now it's me limping along, trying to avoid our historic cobbled streets, dodgey paving stones and traffic lights that change from red to green far too quickly. Oh. And the scary vroom vroom drivers on the road. Hang on, will you?

'Ok ok. Keep yer hair on, sunshine. I'm definately not deliberately walking this slowly to hold you up. Canny help it'

You wait till you're this age. Hah .. see what YOU have in store. Moron.

' toot toooooooot '