Day 35 of the mumps saga…

Last week I watched all of my surf videos. Even Blue Crush.

It started as an attempt to lift my spirits – to whisk me away to foreign shores where perfect waves meet perfectly placed boards in an inspirational aqueous ballet. But the outcome was bereft of joy. It just left me feeling more battered and miserable by this prolonged and stubborn virus – the thrill and beauty of surfing completely obliterated. An ubobtainable pleasure. Something that I ‘used to do’.

Mumps is a disease that should be had as a kid during the seventies, with giant swollen throats to match your Spacehopper. You should wrap up warm in a brown itchy v-neck jumper knitted by your grandmother. Your mates should circle the driveway like ‘Red Indians’ on their Grifters and Choppers singing a taunting song about how much of a ‘spaz’ you are (preferably to the theme tune of Grange Hill) whilst you relish in the days bunking off school eating ice cream and jelly and playing Kerplunk.

It shouldn’t be had in your forties where it slowly grinds you down to a floundering idiot. At the end of last week I finally succumbed to the notion of medical care whereupon the staff at the HUC (Hospitais da Universidade de Coimbra) threw every known scientific test at me, culminating in being stabbed repeatedly in the spine by a well meaning (but apparently bad at darts) doctor who eventually drained enough spinal fluid to tell me that ‘yes – you have the mumps’ but not the suspected menangitis. Good times.

After a week in bed my spirits (and health) seem to be lifting and those waves are looking more appealling than before. The Circus is due in town soon and I’d like to snag a few waves before those pesky pros start slashing them to bits again…

I didn’t surf today. But I did fall in love with my beautiful nurse. She is very loverly to me and I’m very lucky…