Not a calf

Apparently it isn't my calf. I, like everyone else I'm told, have something called a tibialis posterior. And I have injured it. Definitely not as bad as a calf muscle tear, and definitely not as bad as an achilles tear. So I am taped up, and off football and walking. Curses. Well, curses with regard to football anyway.

Putting injuries in perspective, you may not have seen the possibly career-ending injury to Eduardo Da Silva, the Brazilian Croatian striker for Arsenal. You may not want to. Be warned: it ain't pretty. The TV companies in Britain took one look and said nope, they ain't repeating that. They would be right. I play a lot of football, and that kind of injury is extremely rare. But sometimes you see stupid and clumsy challenges and these things are only a heartbeat away. A few years ago, I broke a couple of ribs when I beat a guy to the ball (it does happen occasionally) and released a pass which left me off the ground when the 'tackle' finally arrived. It left me sprawling unable to breathe about 6 foot away. Again, could have been much worse.

I'm just editing this to add a reference to the Big Red Train. I will be thinking of this often. Trust the Train.

Exhaustion

Travelling was almost easy next to this. It is like my objection to some of these horrible shows on telly, where contestants are effectively asked what they would do for $100,000 or somesuch. I wish they'd be asked, "would you work for 20 years and dedicate yourself to your career and investment?" The answer would be, unquestionably, "no". Cynical, I am.

I've done summat 'orrible to my calf muscle. I think I'm tired and the body is becoming vulnerable because of this. That's how my thigh muscle was torn last year, and it would rather fit the circumstance this time. On the bright side, I got to discover this a blog by one of the team. He's having fun, and clearly more blog-literate than me! I must look into how he went about it.

Has it really been two weeks?

More than that in fact. I suppose it reinforces the concept that I was knocked speechless. Have I changed? Has the world changed? Both?

No, of course not. I'm the same except I've had some experiences which, judging by the treatment meted out to this poor sod, I should probably not talk about. The article I've linked there is a blog about going round South East Asia by a fairly green young man. The controversy has arisen from other than his writing (which is better than mine, but I'm not being published by the website of a major national British newspaper), but rather his subject matter and how he got the gig. He is, apparently, the son of an occasional freelance writer for the Guardian (the aforementioned newspaper) and this has given rise to cries of nepotism. This may be the case (and a comment like "his dad worked hard to get him a break in journalism" won't have helped), but it is possible that he really did get in on merit: having creative parents may have led to a creative environment at home for example. His faux-naivete has also wound folk up, claiming not to know what to expect in Thailand when he visited there just a few years ago. But a lot of the issues were seemingly borne out of the fact he was doing the cliche-ridden tour, following in the footsteps of ten thousand other upper middle class yahoos and getting paid for it. I'm sure we all would have if we could. But, my goodness, The Beach was only a good book for those precise people who do that trip. My holiday was paid for by me and no-one may feel obliged to read my witterings as no-one is publishing them beyond this.

A lot of other things haven't changed as well (nice sentence structure, is it not?). And I'm learning to cope with them. It is odd to be back, but I am determined to at least find a different rut.

My so-called 'luck', if so it can be called

I must always try to retain perspective. Hopefully you don't think that I complained too much when I had a spate of small incidents. I was indeed annoyed, of course, but I had such an extraordinarily good run of fortune that anything against that was quite the change and I may have disproportionately represented it.

The horrors of transport in China this week have reminded me that even my perceived bad luck, was in fact good. It meant that I didn't take any risks, that I took myself out of Guiyang (the capital of Guizhou province) and that I am back and safe now. It should be mentioned that this is not a 'China' issue, it is a reminder that big changes cannot be fully prepared for: freak weather is freakish. Poverty exacerbates it for sure, but if Wellington had 6 inches of snow, I don't believe we'd cope especially well in terms of infrastructure.

I can only sympathise with those people affected.

And if anyone wants a drink, they are welcome to buy me one :-). Jodes...?

Did you think it was over?

I am back in Wellington. As is known, I have enjoyed writing this drivel enormously. Let's face it, I've probably enjoyed it more than you lot, but hard cheese.

So I am not stopping quite yet. There are little "settling back in" tales to tell, no doubt, and hopefully I can put some decent piccies of Welly on here too, to entertain the folk who aren't here to enjoy it.

Back in NZ

The flights were smooth and pretty uneventful. I got on well with the Northern English couples on their way to New Zealand for a whistle-stop tour (although one day for Wellington including a trip to the Beehive suggests they might not want to return here). Watched several films including the rather fun Balls of Fury (about ping pong) the good but unpleasant War, the funny and violent Shoot 'Em Up and the slightly disappointing but often excellent Death at Funeral. Rush Hour 3 I started to watch, but it was too terrible for words (especially after having just been to China). The Dark is Rising is supposedly based on one of my favourites book sets as a kid, but it didn't appear to have much in common. Confusing and not much cop.

So I guess you'll all be wanting pictures of Carterton then?

Well...

I am now in Guangzhou. Not because I wanted to be, but because, I need to be here tomorrow. Staying in Guiyang would have jeopardised that as the weather continued to deteriorate. Missing even one flight would have made tomorrow a complete arse. It still might be, but I have attempted to reduce the risk.

So yet more roads were closed in Guiyang, meaning that the very limited programme on offer was reduced yet again. I like the plac well enough, but I can't pretend to have any abiding fond memories. Indeed, the rather excellent hotel there was unfortunate to have its power cut off last night, adding to my list of (admittedly minor) woes. Ho diddly hum.

On my way back to NZ. Very tired and a little flat. I think what I have done will hit me over the next few days, weeks and months. And, let's face it, years.