My yearning to hit the road again was severely hampered for nearly a decade with a mysterious ailment which would flare up intermittently and cause bizarre swelling of various joints and the need for several ambulance trips, extended stays in hospital and time flying by as morphine dripped into my veins, and drains leaked crap from the currently afflicted joint.
Blood specialists, orthopaedic surgeons, and other medicos were baffled, and all the many x-rays revealed were old battle scars from a life more hectic and active in my younger days.
Not a pretty vision and my rabbit pal, shown above, sort of sums up the Dorian Gray aspect of it all.
The rabbit was given to me by a maiden aunt the day I was born [a long time ago]. It was skilfully made out of war-issue stockings and stuffed with pure wool straight off the sheep’s back.
Apparently, according to family, the rabbit and I were inseparable for about seven years — literally — and I guess that’s where a lot of the wear and tear came from. About 10 years ago my mother found him again and mailed him over from Africa. He’s sat on a shelf in my office ever since.
Today I like to think I don’t look as battered as my rabbit pal on the exterior, even though some days I feel just like he looks. Be interesting to see how we cope with life on the road.
The last attack was just on two years ago [after getting them about 2-3 times a year, so that's a big breakthrough] and I am now ready to get on with my next adventure.