With deep regret, I have had to come to the conclusion that I cannot make my trip to Ukraine.
This is down to two issues. That the truck, that is sitting on my drive, has a “crash gearbox”, which means that I have to double clutch every gear change, which I have never done before but, more importantly, due to the fact that my very own GP surgery will not dispense my essential cyclosporine, my back is in agony.
The first relatively long trip was from the Fishbourne ferry port to my home, which is less than 10 miles and by the time that I got home, I was in so much agony that as soon as I got on the drive, I switched off and jumped out of the rig, pulling my shirt off as I went and blocking my Amazon.
If I cannot do 8 miles, there is no way that I can do a round trip of 2,400 miles. This is all done to the surgery refusing to dispense the meds that mitigates my pain. It is not a case of cannot, it is a case of will not and is all down to Dr Hill’s masonic liaison with my father.
But it has backfired. My father wanted me to be in a lot of pain but, stupid as he is, he didn’t join up the dots to realise that I could not travel to Ukraine and be out of his hair for good. Oh dear, yet another plan that has gone down the toilet.
For those who have doubted that I had actually bought the rig, here it is in my drive. I moved it this morning so that I could get my car out to go the osteopath. When he saw my back, he was completely shocked. In the two weeks since I have had not taken my drug, my back has deteriorated so much that he suggested that I went to the hospital to have the wounds dressed; that is how bad it has become.