The Bells.


I left this morning's chiropractor appointment with a strange sensation, which wouldn't abate as I went down the street. I felt like my innards had been replaced with half-set jelly, or like a newborn foal taking its first tentative steps. I was at least ten minutes into my journey before I realised there was nothing wrong. This was how walking was meant to feel.

That’s the thing with bad backs. Sometimes, you don’t know the knot you’re in. There was me thinking I moved like a panther, when my gait resembled a limping, stumbling, foot-dragging zombie. I wouldn’t be out of place living in one of Notre Dame's bell towers.

This is partly my own fault. I’ve become lapse with my back exercises. The time has come to sort this out. Either that, or have a complete structural refit. Call me Bionic Ephgrave.

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