forecasting

The forecast for this weekend. It's only Wednesday, so it may yet ease, maybe. I'm heading down to the boat with Dad, and would very much like a last trip out Fowey and back before the end of the year and this is my last free weekend before January.

On the other hand, if the forecast is gusting more than 20 knots, I'm not sailing. There's no point in trying to be clever, we'll only damage the boat or ourselves.

On which point, I'm recovering. I'm still limping around on a single crutch, but improving daily. I'd be confident about sailing this weekend if the weather turns kinder, and am hoping to get back to karate next Tuesday.

We shall head down to the boat anyway this weekend. If for nothing else, I need to deflate the tender and stow it below. Although there are no free weekends left this year after the next one, I still mean to pick a few Sundays with suitable weather and take Petrella out for a day sail. We won't need the tender for that, though.

Unrelated to my foot, the last course of antibiotics seems to have done the trick, as it's been ten days now since the course finished and there's been no sign of the infection returning. Because the infection was unexplained, and recurred after the first course, the GP referred me to the hospital for a CT scan. I saw the consultant yesterday and he confirmed that it had showed up nothing sinister, which after a two week wait since the scan comes as something of a relief.

Ironically, although the scan showed my kidneys and general waterworks to be fine, the consultant did point out that the scan had picked up that I had a herniated disc in my lower spine. Which would explain the occasional back ache that I just put down to getting old or sleeping bad and mostly chose to try and ignore when it flares up. 

A bit like the tendonitis in my left foot that's left me lame the last couple of weeks.

Because of that, I didn't race the Albacore last Sunday. Ironically, almost as soon as I'd made the decision to cancel on Saturday evening, my foot started to improve and by Sunday I'd cast off one of my crutches as was occasionally making my way to the kitchen and back without either to make myself a cup of tea.

We had a night out last night. I bought tickets for myself, Nikki and my daughter Tash to go and see  one of my favourite singer songwriters, Frank Turner, at the Guildhall in Gloucester, and left my youngest, Sam, babysitting the grandchildren for the evening.

It was an excellent show. We caught an Uber into town and back, so I might have had a few beers just to ease the discomfort of standing on my bad foot all night. That was the first alcohol that has passed my lips in seventeen days. Oddly enough, I didn't enjoy it as much as I thought I would, but the gig itself was fantastic.

It's a venue I've played a few times in the past with my own band, though not for many, many years, and we never quite managed to fill the venue as he did. I actually enjoyed standing in the crowd, singing along shamelessly to my favourites, but otherwise watching somebody else do all the work. 

It was a great night.