Last week began with probably the best massage I have ever had. The deep-tissue treatment was painful at the time but left me feeling better the next day than I had in months. As it turned out, that pain was nothing compared with what was coming over the days that followed.
That afternoon, I felt great and arrived home from work, looking forward to a cup of tea and a nana nap, when Old Mate told me she needed a really big favour: could I go out to Woombye and pick up 20 Besser blocks so she could redo her pot-plant benches? Not ideal. It was raining. West was the last direction I wanted to go. Off I went.
My GPS sent me to the wrong address. So, I rang the woman, who told me I had gone too far and needed to head north. She said she would wait at the top of the driveway. But I couldn’t see her. I stopped and rang again. “Are you in a little white ute?” she asked. She told me I had gone too far: “Get out of the car and look south”.
I did but still couldn’t see her. It turned out there was another moron in a white ute. What are the odds? I hadn’t gone far enough. Eventually, I found her and her pallet of blocks. I loaded the car with her help and headed home.
After carrying the bloody things about 100m to where the boss wanted them, the benefits of my massage were disappearing fast. Little did I know that things were about to get worse.
The next day, I was thinking about taking a drive to the hinterland and maybe stopping for lunch. But I was told I would be decluttering the garage instead: a job that turned into several hours and no lunch.
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Towards the end, under strict supervision, I was instructed to put something on a high shelf, which meant standing on a plastic chair. That was fine until I went to dismount, got my foot caught in the armrest and hit the deck, hip first.
Blinding pain and cries of agony followed, only overpowered by hysterical laughter and “I wish I would have videoed that”. Eventually she asked me if I was okay.
Thankfully, nothing was broken – another reminder that old men should not get up on ladders or $8 plastic chairs.
It reminds me of a quote: “The body remembers everything. Massage helps you remember relaxation”. Mine remembers Besser blocks and stupidity.
Ashley Robinson is Metropolitan Caloundra Surf Club CEO, chairman of Thunder Netball and a lifetime Sunshine Coast resident.
