Back - bad; neighbours - good

There's something about preparing food that seems to disagree with my back. I'm sure it must be a posture thing; I try looking down my nose at the veg with my shoulders firmly back, but it barely helps.

That combined with lifting of gazebos and such like two weekends running, has left me with a sore back.

In fact last Friday I gave in and sourced some of those air activated adhesive heat pads (ooh they're magic!) from a pharmacy and made it through the afternoon in the office through a combination of a lovely warmth penetrating my deep muscle and some anti-inflammatory gel. I fear this is a milestone in the ageing process and I am but months away from ralgex and exhaling as I sit down.

Another weekend of entertaining took it's own toll and as I reached down to lock the garage door this morning the aches and pains made themselves truly known.

Which might explain the dawning realisation as I left work this evening, that whilst I distinctly remember placing my gym bag by my front door last night, I can't really recall putting it in the boot of my car. This would tend to add up to suggest that the bag is lost somewhere between my front door and the garage. My usual habit is to put the gym bag down beside the garage, get the car out and then stow it in the boot.

I have horrible feeling that this morning that routine mutated slightly into: put bag down beside garage, get car out, close garage door, bend to reach the bottom lock, pull back, wince in pain, lose concentration, hobble to car, get in (no doubt exhaling as more poor limbs came to rest) and drive off without gym bag.



Sure enough the bag is nowhere to be found, not in the car, not in the house, not by the garage.

Cursing my own stupidity and vacillating between toting up the cost and inconvenience of my loss, and trying to persuade myself that there's nothing to gain from getting upset about something I can't change, I take a walk around the neighbourhood and the wasteland in particular hoping I might at least be able to salvage some discarded remains of someone's thievery.

No joy though. I head home.

A few minutes later there is a ring at the doorbell and my neighbour enquires if I happened to leave a gym bag by my garage.

Whilst walking the dog she'd seen it lying by the garage and when it was still there ten minutes later and there was no answer at my house, she took it in.

Returned safely I'm so relieved. At least now my attempts at exercise will only be governed by muscle strains, not a lack of attire.

Best neighbours in the world I tell you!