Neck: Bad

I’m struggling today after waking up at seven o’clock, putting my right arm behind my head and then yawning.

‘Holy Jesus, King of Kings!’ I cried as I felt something go wrong in the place where my shoulder joins my neck.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Judy, lifting up her eyeshades.

‘It’s my shoulder,’ I said, stuck in a position in which I resembled Ronnie Cox when they find him floating in the river in 'Deliverance'. ‘I think I’ve trapped something in my shoulder.’

She grabbed my arm and gently pulled it from behind my head which fell on the pillow to the sound of my screaming.

‘OOooooohhhhh!’ I said, as though there weren’t enough ‘ooh’s in my life recently.

Judy just shook her head and looked at the clock.

‘Well, there’s not much I can do now,’ she said. ‘I’m having another couple of hours.’

‘But what about me?’ I asked, unable to move.

‘I’m sure you’ll think of something.’

And that’s how you find me. The beginning of a new week when I had many great plans to put into operation but instead, I’ve tore, trapped, or otherwise dislodged something in my shoulder which makes it difficult for me to type, look to the left, or hold any kind of beverage in my left hand. I had also intended to write a letter of complaint to the BBC about last night’s ‘Top Gear’. Clarkson was using all my best material as he drove around Japan wearing a Bill Oddie mask.

I suppose next week he’ll be writing limericks.

PS. Oooohhhh...