“I’m not well, I’m poorly, I’m proper poorly!” This was the famous catchphrase of Reg Dixon, a British radio comedian in the 1960s. And I could well have used it recently. It is all due to Scotch whisky! No it is not a hangover or a similar result of over-imbibing such a magnificent liquid, “the water of life” indeed!
Recently I was leaving to go to a whisky-tasting event at the Japanese centre in Vernon carrying home-made scones to help out with the event and to represent the Sons of Scotland. I went upstairs to my car and, in spite of my son having warned me about the iciness and slipperyness of the drive surface, got level with my car. I then performed a short series of gymnastic exercises of which I should have been proud had they not finished with a rather heavy landing, interrupted by a short bounce off my son’s boat, on my left shoulder and knees (I am unsure how I managed that bit). I got to my feet somewhat awkwardly and slowly and did not seem to have sustained any significant damage other than a scraped knee. Even this would not have occurred had I not been wearing my kilt. I finally got going and drove down to the venue.
But during what was becoming a very pleasant night my shoulder area became more and more sore. By 10 p.m. it was sore enough for me to leave. I drove home with some difficulty, not with the operation of the car, but with any other movement that was required including getting in and out and of the car. After a very uncomfortable and painful two days, I went to my doctor. He sent me for some X-rays before advocating any further action (my application of an analgesic cream to it he discounted as ineffective, and I thought that Tiger Balm ointment cured everything). A course of physiotherapy, concentrating on the clavicle and its end joints, since then has restored me to almost normal (what passes for normal with me anyway!)
To add insult to injury when I looked up “clavicle” in my medical dictionary I find the clavicle is “the most fractured bone in the body.” It seems that the mathematical odds were not in my favour when I fell.
So you see if I had not been going to the whisky-tasting none of that lot would have happened. Down with the demon drink — hahaha! And I don’t even like whisky very much, except for purely medicinal use, curing colds, and for putting into Christmas puddings!
Peter Kendal is a freelance writer living in Vernon.
