OCCUPIED COUNTRY

Life on Mars Earth

So, after the excitement of meeting Doctor Who in my own space and time, Wednesday saw me booted and kagouled taking the shit-machine for a run round Dovestones Reservoir. Sandwiches, flask of coffee, spare sweatshirt and lashings of Kendal Mint cake (only joking), and off we went.

Less than half an hour's drive from my front door and we're there. I leave the dog in the car while I slip into clothing more fitting to the howling winds and constant drizzle. The dog spots 20 or 38 ducks waddling about not 10 feet from the car and goes as crazy as a fundamentalist as she attempts to fling herself through the reinforced glass in my Volkswagen Polo. Finally I am wind and rain proof and the dog is on the lead. Off we go.

The first thing she does of course, is crap in full view of everyone. A party of 10-year-old schoolchildren found the episode worthy of whistles claps and shouts. Highly amusing. Anyway 30 minutes later the pair of us are well up the valley and miles away from anyone in weather like this. Blowing a gale; that fine rain that soaks you through finding its way hither and thither. The good thing was the fact that I could let the dog off the lead for a good run. The last dog we had (Sally O'Malley the Red Setter) would just leg it the minute freedom was sniffed. Tess the Shit Machine is different. She gets worried if she can't see me. So much fun was had hiding.

After an hour and half or so of walking round the two main reservoirs, we found ourselves on a hillside. Boggy and slippy and just plain awkward underfoot. There was a small stream between us and the main path and I soon spotted some stepping stones. "That's the way for us" I thought, and off we shot.

Funny things stepping stones aren't they? These had obviously been there since time began. Rooted they were - rooted. So, confidently, I place my Hawkshead-booted foot on stepping stone number one. No problem. Stepping stone number two however was the wobbler; all my (substantial) weight on the fucker and the next thing I am face first in two feet of ice cold, peaty H2O. Refreshing.

I shot out like a bat out of hell. Soaked to the skin with a very stiff breeze shrinking my testicles to the size of Fenning's Little Healers. No matter - careful fondling would have them back to their previous glory in no time. What worried me more though was the fact that I had obviously damaged my left foot. More upsetting was the fact that the car was a good two miles away. Suffice to say it took fuckin' ages getting my knackered body - and the over-excited dog back to the car park. Nearly two hours of absolute agony.

Couldn't get a mobile signal either - I could've died. Face down with my dog frolicking in the water not five feet from my cadever.

Ah well, could be worse I suppose. I mean, look at the Pope. The poor bugger's off to meet his immediate boss soon. All three of 'em!

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So, back home after a couple of hours excrutiating walking, followed by a rush hour trawl through Oldham towards Manchester via every road work requiring temporary fuckin' traffic signals between here and Lower Slaughter. Left foot an' all. The clutch foot.

By the time I got home and packed it with ice, I was beginning to fear the worst. Eldest had a look and with the benefit of his footballing experience, he reckoned it was probably a severe sprain or tendon-ligament damage. Rest it and all would be fine.

Two days later and it's no better - indeed it's starting to swell like a swelling thing. Ice packs help - but the tell-tale puffiness soon returns.

On the plus side though, I've not had to take the dog out since. Result.