Lamb, Garlic and Doodles.

What threatened to be a mundane trip to work at the Out of Hours yesterday was given a dramatic twist. I'd decided to walk Jeff's legs off prior to work so he would be tired and hopefully settle down to sleep in the car overnight. We stopped in the woods just outside Durham.

It started as just a routine walk in the park: Jeff sniffing this n that, birds tweeting in the woodland and sheep bleating in the field next door (though such walks are something I won't ever now take for granted - thank you ankle, you're getting there). Routine that was until Jeff took off deep into the wild garlic.

The reason for this burst of activity was soon apparent as Jeff Dawg plucked a semi-putrified lamb carcass from the undergrowth. Eyes wide, tail straight-up and wagging with new-found vigour... the game was on!

After 20 mins of chasing, and hide and seek, I was in danger of being late for work but eventually had Jeff cornered by fences in the woodland. A playful growl, head down, he attempted to barge past me.

Now, I don't think that Jeff knew I was once captain of the Durham School 4th Rugby XV (played 3, won 3, banned for violence and alcohol). Nor that I had once been called onto the pitch for 15 of the most scared minutes of my life when reserve for the 1st XV. He certainly wasn't expecting the re-emergence of my tackling prowess: but I took him down and as he went, the lamb carcass shot from his surprised jaws smearing what can only be described as "gack" down my leg. As we rolled in the muddy undergrowth, the stench of wild garlic was overpowering as the spring growth was crushed, staining my trousers.

I'm not sure what I would think if I needed to see a GP overnight and he had muddy, garlic-stains on his knees and stunk of wet dog and rotten farm animal, but at 3am I soon found out what Harvey the Golden Doodle thought. I had turned my back for only a moment, when I felt a paw on each shoulder and a thrusting at my waist.

JD is in the dog-box.

The Joy of Skype

Not entirely sure what we did before this came along. Video calls were non-existent and even regular overseas calls were expensive, tinny and subject to erratic delays.

We got skype set up when Mrs Doubleu was in Boston for 6 months but the internet with the mentalists wasn't that good and we struggled even just to talk on it.

 The past year though, it's been a revelation. Absolutely essential for keeping in touch with Mrs Doubleu whilst she's been in Pittsburgh. I'm used to her yelling for me from the other end of the house, but now I can hear her dulcet tones hollering across the Atlantic. And they call this progress?

I first saw Fin, my nephew, at 2 days old on skype when he got home from hospital in London. Since then I've stalked him by skype from Joburg to Cape Town and then onto Sydney. He is one well travelled 8 month old!

Espresso-based beverages

I started easing myself back into working mode today with a 6 hour training day. I got a lift down with Christine as I still can't drive. But all seems to be hopeful for a return to work date of just after Easter.

Christine is just as hopeless a caffeine addict as I, so making good time on the way down we stopped for a Costa. Cappucino for her and flat white for me. To go. The caffeine jolt was just enough to get me through the day. Am I gonna need an espresso-based beverage every day when I get back to work? It's possible.

The most fun all day was the wager on whether we'd make it back over the Tyne by 16:45. At stake the complimentary free coffee card I "earned" in Starbucks last week when my coffee order was momentarily delayed. Christine hoped the cop-car mimicking properties of the pale mondeo with roof rails would be enough to give her a clear run, but I was suspicious that the Peppa Pig window shades would give her away as a civilian.

It looked like being a close run thing but stationary traffic past Chester-le-Street meant I was soon certain I would be keeping the free coffee voucher, but increasingly less confident that Jeff would "hang on" for his first day home alone in a while.

I don't know how I ever doubted him: these days he's such a good big-boy. He held on even whilst bouncing around the kitchen with excitement at my return, before bounding outside and happily emptying both barrels onto Claire's attempts to rehabilate the lawn.

Over by over...

Fame at last... but a very minimal kind of fame.

I've always been a big fan of the guardian OBO's slightly off-the-wall and not-strictly-cricket coverage. Now I can follow on my iPhone when I'm meant to be asleep, which is what I was doing the other morning when Mrs Doubleu caught me talking about her.

One question though: if this is Bangladesh, how severe is the iPhone OBO induced insomnia going to be against Australia at the end of the year? Oh, and I'm really going to have to up my game if I want a mention during The Ashes.

Premature Egg-jaculation

Dave and Adele were our house guests this weekend. The activities were basically: eating, sleeping (Dave), followed by more eating, then some snacking and drinking. Now Cadbury would have us believe that creme egg season runs from Jan 1st until Easter. We're not adherents to this religion but such was the gluttony on show that we polished off all the chocolate eggs that Dave and Adele had kindly brought with them well before Easter!

Claire, Dave & Adele burnt some of that chocolate off on Friday during a brisk walk on Bamburgh Beach with JD. Me, I was plotting my next meal - a baguette in Alnwick followed by a visit to Barter Books. Buying WW2 propaganda mugs was the limit of my exertions.

Adele put us all to shame by getting her road bike onto my turbotrainer. She checked it wasn't seized up with inactivity and gave it a good thrashing. The turbotrainer has had a harder time before... supporting my weight, but Saturday was its first real work-out. Thank you! Dave tackled my inertia and DIY-ed the cupboard under the stairs. Thank-you!

After that, all that was left to do on Sunday was cook caramelised apples and pears to top the maple syrup smothered brioche french toast. We then stopped off at Colman's for Fish & Chips before Dave and Adele headed south.

I really need to get on that bike and I'm hoping for the all clear from the physio in 2 weeks time. The only worry now is that I'm sure I read somewhere that those minimalist pedals have a maximum rider weight.

Graveyard of Eviscerated Creatures

That'll be the backyard then...

Not only have Jeff and the magnolia tree ganged up on the lawn, but the back garden is starting to resemble something from a childhood nightmare.

The lawn has suffered the combined torment of magnolia leaves and petals on top of JD's pee, poop and an unfortunate digging habit. Add to this the combined gardening skills of Mrs Doubleu & I, and you are left with 3/4s of the lawn in a perilous state (i.e. it's mostly dirt now).

The back garden is the scene of past triumphs for Jeff. Such as the day he discovered he could barge through the hedge into the neighbours garden, and stole not one, but two wooden ducks. I returned the ducks on the first occasion, but Jeff sensing an opportunity, stole them again as soon as I left to visit Mrs Doubleu in Pittsburgh last autumn. Both Harv and Meyrick who housesat over that fortnight are quite laidback chaps, and their horizontal status denied the ducks any hope of repatriation. By the time I got back the pair were still recognisably duck-shaped, but neither had a head or legs!

Today, now that its been dry and I'm more confident of my ankle, I've had a bit of a clearout of Jeff's toys from the garden. It was a sombre affair. Most have been brutally savaged, often missing their eyes - sometimes their faces or even whole heads, with innards chewed out through the wound. Even his new big green frog, of which he is particularly proud, has lost its "rebbit!"

Square Eyes

Well, after 8 months with Mrs Doubleu in Pittsburgh and 8 weeks into recovery after ankle surgery, I am discovering that there is a limit to how much TV is good for a person. All I didn't need was for the physio to tell me last week was that my nothing was overdoing it a bit, and I have to work much harder at doing nothing for the next 3 weeks.

So I've seen all of The Wire, Being Human, Black Books, Green Wing, True Blood, Heroes, Flash Forward, Peep Show and of course Gavin & Stacey. I've worked through 4 series of HIMYM, 2 of the Big Bang Theory and most of Battlestar so far, with the latest series of 24 awaiting us on the hard drive. And of course let's not forget Dexter, with the 4th series finale just about causing Mrs Doubleu and I to tear our hair out the other night!!!

Unfortunately I've also seen more Homes under the Hammer and Cash in the Attic than I would care to admit to. I even mistakenly tuned to Jeremy Kyle last week - just for a moment, but still a step too far.

In an attempt to break things up I've watched women (& unfortunately men too) clad in lycra ski, skate, shoot & slide in Canada (- well done Amy). I've been keeping tabs on the Premiership despite Newcastle's abscence... and haven't England done well so far in Bangladesh. Jeff's joined in too, keeping an eye on the Spanish footie for me, or at least that's what he said he was doing when I found him in the kitchen chewing on the remote with the TV blaring. (Don't worry Maria, I've ordered you a replacement!)

Anyway I hope to be allowed to play outside again quite soon... and by that point I'm sure I won't want to see another TV for quite some time. In the meantime, further suggestions welcome...

I signed up for no heat, not no water.

Mrs Doubleu being back this side of the Atlantic, we decided to head up to Dumfries and Galloway for the weekend. We toyed with the idea of going to Ireland but decided we'd save that until some time when I would be able to walk around. The cottage was without heat, the 70s style blown air system gave up the ghost in autumn, but we figured a scattering of hot water bottles and winter weight sleeping bags and we'd be good as good as camping.

What we weren't expecting was wild camping, but a pipe in the loft had obviously blown in the cold spell and as soon as we turned on the water we had a shower coming through the roof. Water off. A quick trip to the Spar and we were set up with a few gallons of drinking water... and haggis flavoured crisps.

When in D&G, we have certain customs that have taken on almost religious significance and importance.

Firstly, I must have haggis: usually from The Masonic Arms, served in slices as a stack with potato cakes and drambuie sauce; but at a push I'll take it from The Godfather Plaice served in batter with chips heavily laden with "solansors" (salt and sauce - a kinda brown sauce watered down with spirit vinegar).

Nextly: Mrs Doubleu must have ice cream from Cream O Galloway. Usually honeycomb crunch and caramel shortbread. At least once a day, sometimes twice. For the duration of the stay.

Lastly (and this is a new one): we have to walk the legs off Jeff dog. Well, it was all down to Claire this time- walks in Cally Palace Woods, Laurieston Woods, and Sandgreen Beach. Well after all that Jeff was properly pooped and even slept through a young stag appearing in the garden!

Blue Sky Thinking

Well we awoke to clear blue skies today and despite a hard frost, temperatures quickly rose to 7'c. So what do you think we were we thinking?

Let's hit the beach!

Jeff is owed more than a few long walks and now Mrs Doubleu is home for a few weeks, there is no excuse. So after a luxury breakfast of Mike's world famous brioche french toast, we drove north to Alnwick. We noted that the Cheviots were still white with snow but headed to the beach at Bamburgh anyway.

The scene we met, as well as the tide app on Mike's iPhone, confirmed that we'd managed to time it just right for a very high tide! So Mike and his ankle retired to the Rav with his copy of Whitelines and the sound of thunderous breakers to keep him company.

Mrs Doubleu set off for a brisk dune walk towards the castle, hoping for a beach to reappear in time for the return journey. Jeff was off lead and in his element, racing up tussock here and down dune there until...

Jeff charged down a 10ft sand cliff to be met by the foaming sea. He made a sharp about turn to clamber back to safety but as he climbed the sand gave way under his 50 kilos. As he fell back to the beach he was swamped by a breaking wave.

Jeff didn't panic but for just a moment Mrs Doubleu might have, with visions of having to jump in. But by then Jeff dog was back by her side shaking himself dry. "That was nothing," thought Jeff, "Didn't Daddy tell you about the day I fell in the River Wear?"

Mary, Mary, quite contrary...

As many of you will know, I'm currently off work, as well as off my feet. Yesterday I had a little trip down Memory Lane to the life of an on-call GP of yesteryear... You know, oncall from home 24 hrs a day. Dr Finlay stuff.

Pipes Parkin was away to the Big Smoke this weekend, being organiser-in-chief for the stag weekend of the Great Lorenzo. Mrs P was home alone with Baby Mary, when she noticed a rash at bathtime. One panicked glass test later, Mrs P phoned her local "tame" GP. Me.

I dusted off my thermometer, found my stethoscope and wondered if I had any penicillin handy. Mary was very well in herself, smiling, chatty and very pleased to meet Max, whilst Jeff was gutted to have to stay in the kitchen.

It was an unusual rash so we thought Mary would be better seen by the paediatricians because, being "just a GP" I wasn't completely sure what was going on. Well Mary spent 24 hours in the shiny new RVI with the clever doctors and their blood tests, and we still are not completely sure what's gone on.

I'm fairly certain, though, that Mary is just being contrary - she's got that kind of smile.

Good Session

Mr & Mrs "Pipes" Parkin had me round for tea yesterday... I took the soup: North African spiced butternut and lentil; they rustled up a chicken and bacon risotto; then, just as we had all decided there was no room for pud, DP remembered it was session night.

Hot foot down to The Brandling Villa for trad music. A sturdy old pub "under new management" - usually a phrase that fills me with dread, but on this occasion they seem to be getting it right.

Not only do they tolerate, nay, encourage the session but they have live music regularly, real beer, Hoegaarden, illy coffee, a good menu - and fresh from the extravaganza that was their sausage festival: The Big Pie Weekend is coming soon. 25 kinds of pie, 30 ales & 25 ciders... A recipe for success? I think so.

The session was its usual lively self but of course there was disappointingly no foot-tapping for me at the moment. I think I'm going to need a drum.

Modified Brostrom (3)

Well it wasn't quite the "Eureka!" moment I'd hoped for. But I am now in my walking cast a.k.a. the moon boot.

The nurse in the plaster room with a BMI of >50 took off my fibreglass cast. One minute - my foot and ankle, indeed up to my midshin was secure in the cast, the next it was nestled safely in her warmth (cleavage? abdominal folds?) as she worked with her electric saw. Then - free! but feeling decidely vulnerable.

Friends had informed me that my lower leg would be: thin like a sparrow's and/or pale like a corpse's and/or scaly like a lizard's and/or withered like a crone's and/or very hairy like a werewolf. Thankfully none of the above was true. It is slightly thinner than the left at the moment with some minor dry skin. Nothing to get too excited about.

The orthopaedic registrar who saw me today was more of a grunter than a talker, but the scar looks very neat and my ankle didn't flop around in the breeze, so I'll forgive his poverty of speech for now. Still gotta keep the crutches for now though, but I am allowed to gradually start to put some weight through my right foot when its in the moon boot.

Modified Brostrom (2)

Last time I did my ankle, 8 years ago, I had private physio for 3 months and was treated a little like a walking wallet. She did however strap my ankle in a weird fashion with flesh coloured tape and thus give me the confidence to still go scuba-diving in the Egypt. In fact a week of finning around the Red Sea seemed to achieve more than she ever did and 2 or 3 months later things appeared to be back to normal until...

This time. I decided to go with a private orthopaedic opinion as I had another scuba trip I had to check I was going to be fit for, this time to the Great Barrier Reef. The modern waiting room, smart 3 piece suit, natty brogues and carefully matched shirt and tie all inspired confidence but made me consider that I was paying a little too much for this appointment. It was decreed that I would be fit for my scuba trip, road cycling was unlikely to make things much worse, but I did need an MR Arthrogram. I decided my pockets weren't deep enough for a private scan and booked my liveaboard dive trip instead, knowing with a degree of confidence that my NHS scan would take place some time well after I returned from Australia.

In August, the radiologist said my ankle would feel "funny" and when he learnt I was medical, he was certain that I'd want to see the contrast injected into my ankle. He was wrong on both counts: when he injected the additional 8ml of fluid into the ankle that already contained its usual 2ml of synovial fluid it didn't feel funny- it felt like I'd just injured it all over again. The fact I was was watching this on a TV monitor as it happened wasn't interesting, it was nauseating. To add insult to "injury" the staff in the MRI room misheard me and I was subjected to half an hour of earspliting 50s music in a vain attempt to drown out the VERY NOISY scanner as they scanned me every 5 minutes to see where the fluid was leaking from.

I had ruptured my CFL and torn my ATFL, and was listed for an arthroscopy and EUA as a warm-up for a bigger definative op that the surgeon was almost certain I'd need. The "warm-up" anaethesia went well and I can just about remember telling the recovery nurse that I had a "big doggie." Results: Yup, the joint was very unstable and yup, I was starting to get mild arthritis from it slipping about all the time despite my best efforts to compensate. I liked to imagine that when I was anaesthetised my foot was like a freshly landed wild salmon, flopping about and hard to get a good hold of because of my desperately unstable ankle - those anaethesia drugs always give me full-on dreams.

So I was listed for a modified Brostrom's lateral ankle reconstruction and finally had this just after New Year 2010. This all seemed to go smoothly and apparently I'm likely to be back to premiership foootball in 6 months. Post-op recovery was initially swift, out of hospital within 48 hours. I had the initial recuperation period with Paul and Fi as Mrs Doubleu was in Pittsburgh and neither Max nor Jeff was deemed responsible enough to look after me. Jeff dog was boarded out with Anne, and Max left with a suitably large pile of food. I was very well looked after: my nails were painted by Freya and my lego skills encouraged by Dylan. The fact I was immobile and therefore a "captive playmate" all the better as far as they were concerned.

There followed 6 weeks of complete non-weight bearing on my right foot. So I've really just about had it with crutches.

Seriously, I go back to clinic this morning and I'm expecting to get the cast off, be fitted with a walking cast. I'm hoping to throw away my crutches in what I'm imagining will be a scene of almost biblical fervour, hallelujah and salvation.

To be continued...

Modified Brostrom (1)

I've just about had it with crutches.

Don't ever take your ankles for granted. Seriously, you rely on them more than you realise: walking, running, cycling, swimming, climbing, and snowboarding. Believe me, even taking a cup of tea from one room to another is a major undertaking on axilla crutches (tip: flask and backpack).

No doubt many of you are aware of the ongoing saga of my right ankle. Sprained often in childhood, once badly playing squash 8 years ago, and then properly knackered in November 2008 on a midweek Beamish Oddsox mountain bike night-ride.

Instant nausea at the time of the injury (embarrassingly but luckily only 200m into the ride) gave me a clue this was a more substantial injury. After a couple of hours of rest, ice, and elevation, I struggled to remove the mud-caked gore-tex sock. And as soon as I did, my ankle visibly swelled to the size of a melon in front of my eyes. "Yikes!" I thought.

Mrs Doubleu was preparing a presentation for work the following morning and thus not best pleased at my request for a lift to A&E. Needless to say, said A&E was full of Mrs Doubleu's least favourite patient demographic: drunken, vomiting, teenage girls. Despite the retching, Mrs Doubleu admirably soldiered on, preparing her talk on her laptop at a safe distance from the spew, whilst I had X-rays and painkillers.

The X-rays showed "no bony abnormality." I couldn't believe this, given the pain and swelling, so I asked the casualty junior if he could have my films checked by the registrar on duty as I was "a GP and everything". Now in all likelihood, he went for a cup of coffee, then came back and told me they'd been checked and were fine, but hey, I felt better about it all.

So when it didn't settle down, I had physio. I had a week's boarding in Whistler to get through. It did seem perverse though, to be icing the bastard after a morning in the snow. But the thing just didn't settle, no matter how much I tried to convince myself it was slowly getting better. It plateaued by May, by which time I could cycle on the road and pay for it with a day of swelling. Running, climbing, boarding and mountain biking had much steeper payments.

To be continued...

Insomnia

It's 02:09 and despite insufficient sleep the night before last (poor judgement - late coffee) I am awake.

Since then I've survived the limo ride through the relentless snow to the airport, a Quiznos sub and the overnight flight from Pittsburgh via Paris to Newcastle. It helped that once again I was treated like minor royalty, wheeled to the front of every queue and given 3 seats to sprall across for the transatlantic leg. Mrs Doubleu also had 3 seats and sensibly decided to catch some sleep.

I couldn't help myself with the seat back video entertainment system and despite my better judgement watched The Damned United (good), Funny People (so-so), the Invention of Lying (oh-no) and Dexter (episodes exactly where we'd left off - a sign?). So, no sleep there then despite the room to stretch out.

I crashed out almost as soon as we had said our hellos to Max and Jeff. Some amazingly vivid dreams followed, many of which featured sirens, buzzers and bells. Claire's walk with Jeff lasted about an hour longer than planned and yep, she'd spent at least half an hour leaning on the doorbell in the freezing cold. Well if you will go walkies without housekeys...

Anyway what was I saying? You're awake when no-one else is and feel the need to prattle on to the blogosphere... There's an app for that.

App: blogpress.
Diagnosis: jetlag.

Snowmageddon

Well that's what they're calling it over here... 2-3 foot of snow here in central Pittsburgh, PA. - the most for 20 years or so. They've had more in DC - the most for 90 years. Still: snowmageddon? There's nothing like American hyperbole, is there? Having said that, it is a little more impressive than the 1.2cm of snow that regularly grinds the UK to a halt.

Claire has attempted, and failed, to dig her car out with the bread board so its hiking to work for her at the moment... and me, I'm getting cabin fever. Crutches and ice on the sidewalk do not mix. Still, I managed to brave the conditions for bar food and 2 pints of Yuengling last night. I really had to earn that deep fried zuccini.

Ok, so I just looked out the window and its snowing again. Not so good since we're hoping to fly back to Newcastle-upon-Tyne tomorrow. Snow - please just stay away until 6 tomorrow night, then you can dump as much as you'd like.