Automatic for the hoppa

My road to recovery from the accident continues to snake it's way into the sunset horizon, however, I am pleased to report that the kilometres are ticking by at an ever increasing rate.

The physio work I am doing is giving tangible benefits. After every session I can feel a definite improvement in being able to stand on two feet and make progress towards the holy grail of unassisted walking.

Today however, was a huge step forward. I am now the owner of an automatic renault Clio. Which means that my independence is back. No more running around trying to arrange lifts from highly busy MBA students with rapidly changeable schedules. Although the help from people with this has been absolutely tremendous, not having to think about other people's schedules and how best to fit around them is a huge relief. I shall sleep like a puppy tonight - it's been a long hard slog this week.

School Bus

This is probably the most bizarre experience an MBA student has ever had, but today I came home on the school bus. And I don't mean the school bus of the Business School of the World! I mean a proper all singing all dancing French school bus full of 12 year olds. It appears that there's one of these a day from school going straight to my house, so on the rare occasions that my schedule permits it I can make use of this.

Quite an interesting thing school buses. I reckon you could tell a lot about a country from them. Back in my day, the noise level was somewhere between a jet taking off and a pneumatic drill. Members of the public unfortunate enough to stumble onto my school bus would with write to school with alarming regularity to report tales of fighting, swearing and smoking. The school would chastise the students with absolutely no effect.

When I got on the bus today it all went quiet (I was the only adult there). Then a kid politely moved his bag out of the way while another directed me to the newly created empty seat. The conversation level never got to anything higher than what is necessary for people to communicate. And I did not hear a swear word once (though admittedly I may not have recognised it). Not a hooded top insight. Not even people listening to music at a volume that will guarantee they will be deaf before they are 16. In fact, that's probably the most polite bunch of kids that I can ever remember. I was utterly amazed. I look forward to my next journey.

X-ray Vision

It's that time of term when you've just had the first day of lectures and are wondering what new things term can bring. But for me I've been focusing on leg healage, so shall put the MBA aside for one second.

I had my first hospital examination of my leg today. On the plus side everything is going well and there are no complications present. On the minus side, I saw an X-ray of my leg for the first time and I got depressed.

I think my problem was that I'd practically started walking with both legs over the course of the past week. Which in my engineeringly logical brain was equated to an expectation of an X-ray of an almost perfectly healed bone - give or take a few fractures here or there. So when I got to look at my X-ray, seeing quite distinctly that there were three different bits of bone which in no way could be described as being remotely together made me shudder. Apparently the bone has started to heal, but the whole process will take another 2.5 months to complete. And the funny thing is, I knew it would take this long to heal cause they told me this in the hospital before I left. But when you see yourself being able to take 3-4 steps in a row after having been bedridden for 6 weeks, the mind (or at least mine) goes in overoptimism mode.

Still. Everything is going as well as can be expected, so I am more than grateful. I think a little expectation management was probably well in order anyway. So for now it's crutches.

Going Native

In today's high flying rapid information jet setting lifestyle I find it quite tricky to feel at home many places. Probably due to the fact I've moved about so much. So in some ways being forced to stay in a tiny French village for Christmas was quite a good thing to happen - it has not only given me time to pause and reflect but also get to know the locals a tiny bit.

My highlight of the past week has to be with the owner of the Le Balto restaurant which is straight across the road from my house and one of the few things within crutch walking distance of my bed. It's the sort of low down dirty hangout which would not look out of place in a town west of Tombstone AZ two hundred years ago. The bar seems to be permanently occupied by labourers smoking filterless Gitanes while getting drunk on cheap bear. In one corner there is a TV permanently showing horse racing fixtures while in another there's a full blown betting stand where punters can inject their poison. An entrance to the establishment is always greeted by a complete cessation of all conversations followed by a slow head turning movement towards the door. Had it not been prohibited by health and safety regulations I have no doubt the floor would have been covered in sawdust.

Upon my first visit there while convalescing (I love the sound of that word) the owner came to take our order. He's a big jolly (if you can believe that) French man of about 60. He came, put his hand on my shoulder gently and paused while looking me straight in the eye. After what seemed like an eternity he said "Ca va?". I was touched. I knew I had become a member of a new club.....