DOES anyone remember the Numskulls, the comic strip from the Beezer featuring the little people who live inside everyone, operating their bodily functions like a complex machine?
The basic theory was that while we think we know what we are doing, our every action is controlled by the Numskulls, who fall out with each other, oversleep and get up to all kinds of mischief in our internal organs.
You may recall that my entire left leg has been giving me gip for many months now, with the Numskulls operating it apparently thinking it is great fun to make it fold like a carpenter’s rule at inappropriate times, such as when climbing the south face of the path up Hallgate from the Wentworth car park.
Many’s the time I have had to head for the Market Place clinging onto the handrail like a Saturday night drunk, while uttering low moans of agony as I feel the rough end of the ragman’s trumpet blasting out beneath my patella.
The collapse is accompanied by a searing pain from hip to knee, as though those naughty Numskulls had decided to re-enact an underground episode of Poldark in my lower limb.
The limb has been x-rayed and MRI scanned on many occasions, as well as pulled and palpated by learned medics, smeared with jelly and blasted with ultrasound shockwaves and smothered in glowing concoctions of Voltarol, Deep Heat and Fiery Jack.
Investigations finally revealed a tear to a ligament on the right side of the knee, and I was duly booked in for repair surgery at Hexham General Hospital some six weeks ago.
I thought it would be a local anaesthetic job, but to my surprise was zapped into unconsciousness, waking up with a huge bandage on my left leg, and a rather sexy white stocking on the other.
What looked like black blood appeared to be seeping out from beneath the bandage, but when I got my glasses back, I could see it was in fact an arrow felt-tipped onto my shin, pointing north, with a helpful note to the surgeon stating “knee”.
I was feeling no pain, and was quietly sceptical of the surgeon’s instruction that I should not drive for two weeks, or return to the bike saddle for a month.
The bandage and dressings were off after two days, and much as I liked my sexy white stocking, it was discarded too. I have suffered worse shaving nicks than the two scalpel cuts made to effect the surgery, and all appeared to be well.
I was able to drive after a week, with no ill effects, but sorely tempted though I was, I didn’t get my bike out of the garage until the prescribed four weeks had elapsed. I did my usual 10 mile circuit, albeit at a more sedate pace than usual, into a headwind for much of the way, but again, the repaired knee stood up to the test without protest.
I deemed myself to be back in as good shape as possible for a sextuagenarian fat man, but those Numskulls decided to return from their holidays to wreak a little havoc.
I was lending a modest hand with a family flitting, being careful not to lift anything too heavy while proffering helpful advice to others with more muscles.
I was operating in the back of the van, sliding things to the rear for unloading, then jumping out to indicate where they should be placed in the new property.
Alas all that leaping in and out of the van proved too great a temptation for the Numskulls, who decided it was time to conduct major roadworks in Knee Valley.
They set to work with a pneumatic drill and a heavy duty JCB right in the centre of the joint, reducing my sprightly stride to an arthritic hobble, and their efforts to remove my knee cap with sudden blasts of gelignite were hideously excruciating.
I was forced to retire to the only chair in the house as my knee throbbed like a 1960 Matchless G12, emitting occasional yelps of pure agony as a particularly vindictive Numskull set to work with his thermic lance.
Mrs Hextol had to take me home, and I spent the evening with the offending leg propped up on a cushioned stool like a gout-ridden Indian Army colonel as she fussed around me.
I feared irreparable damage had been caused – but the next day, the Numskulls relented, and the leg was as good as new again.
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