I swear on my neck

Today was fairly uneventful, apart from my body beginning to complain more vociferously about the abuse I've been meting out to it; it turns out that running around at night, in the early morning and the late evening isn't wonderful for your neck. As one of my physios pointed out, if you put something the weight of a bowling ball on top of a weak column of flesh and bone, things are going to go wrong from time to time.

Thus far, nothing terrible, at least compared to last year and the visit to the cinema that left me unable to turn my head. However, with sore and tight shoulders, there was little I could do to relax them apart from lie on my back with a rolled up towel propping up my head.

My legs are very stiff, but I can deal with that by rubbing them with my (painful) massage stick. As I only have two arms and they're closely coupled to my shoulders and neck, it's harder for me to administer care to myself. On the other hand I can watch The Club, Vic and Bob's fake docusoap about Baron's Nightclub, which has Vic Reeves playing a terrible, washed-up compere who insists that he will "schwear on my neck" whenever he wants to emphasise the gravity of a situation.

Perhaps it's not good for my neck to be lying on my back holding a computer screen above my face, but it's Vic and Bob, you can't argue with that.

My wife, unimpressed, cajoled me into getting a foot and shoulder massage, which helped. Although the guy massaging me kept asking me to relax my neck and shoulders - if I could, I probably wouldn't need a massage. I'm hoping tomorrow I'm a bit looser, otheriwse I'll get my wife to beat me with an egg whisk. It won't help my sore muscles, but it will be funny.

Maybe.