Bent out of shape

I woke at six this morning, body racked with pain. My back is nothing but a mess of kinked muscles, bent out of shape by sleeping in too-soft beds, and once it's bad, I can't sit, I can't stand and I can't lie down without being in excruciating pain.

I stumbled out to the easy chair and read a John Le Carre novel, that ends fairly badly, and took some high strength painkillers, so after an hour I could slink back to bed and then not wake up until eleven, greeted by the scent of delicious bacon that I can't eat. Then it was off in the Wounded Whale, our poor injured Charger, to visit a massage therapist in Barrington who fixed me up, so I could go home and take full advantage of my working back by ... playing cards.

Mind you, it's not just my back. I have creaking knees, my hair is falling out and my face is breaking out in spots. If I was my wife I might be worried that I'd been sold a lemon, as her apparently sort-of-healthy husband conks out as soon as he's beyond the 7-day return period. I wonder what my warranty is. I should have asked my parents today as they were passing through Shelburne, but instead we went to Charlotte's Lane, a combination gift shop and restaurant, where I ate too much food, refused to buy any lobster-themed bric-a-brac, and then went home to eat more pie.

Then I read Eat To Live, which basically told me that my constant Tim Horton's/apple fritter/delicious burger diet is turning my insides into processed cheese, and I will shortly be dead.

Oh dear.

If my wife discovers that as well as a wonky spine, a dodgy head and a bad skin condition, I'm almost 100% lard, she'll have a fit. I think when I return to Hong Kong, I'm really going to have to start on the healthy diet again.

At least we should have eaten all the wedding cake by then.