I knew I had problems when they crucified me

March 2016. Chatting to a group of primary school kids about the Easter story, I held my arms in a classic crucifixion pose – outstretched on either side of my body and raised slightly above shoulder height.  OUCH! I felt a stabbing pain around my left shoulder.

A few weeks earlier S- and I volunteered to help our younger son install power to his garage. I chose to make myself useful by lifting 4 paving slabs to clear the way so that S- could dig a cable trench across the lawn. Now these slabs, dear reader, were not friendly little ones, like those I used on my new patio, nor were they the slightly larger, but still quite friendly, ones that form the rest of our garden paths.  No, these were sockin' great 600x600mm brutes, such as one sees on roadside pavements. And they were heavy. Indeed, I remember thinking that they were a bit too heavy for me, but I allowed enthusiasm to overrule my fears. And when the trench had been dug and the underground cable laid, I loyally completed my allotted task by lowering the blighters back into place.

It took a few days for the pain to really set in, but by the time I did my crucifixion act it had got quite bad... though only if I raised my left arm sideways above shoulder height or reached behind my back to slip my arm into a cardigan sleeve.  I told myself that the pain would eventually diminish, like any other ache and pain I endure from doing silly things like playing too enthusiastically with the children's Wii Fits. It didn't.

Which is how I came to find myself at a Physiotherapy Clinic today. After much questioning and exercising, Maria declared that I had probably torn a shoulder muscle – a common enough injury, she declared, especially in older people (!). She was kind enough not to add and in stupid ones too. I was sent home with this sheet, detailing some gentle muscle tone exercises that I have to do until my next physio appointment, in two weeks' time. So now, twice daily, I am to be found lying on my back in the middle of the lounge, left arm outstretched and rocking it back and forth, or in gentle circles.

The first instruction did make me smile, though: "Reach the whole arm up to the ceiling..." Tricky. Lying on the floor, my arms are nowhere near long enough to to reach the ceiling. Which just goes to prove what a sad pedant I am.

It will doubtless take some time to restore my former youthful fitness, but I'm pretty confident that I'll be fighting fit in time to be crucified again, next Easter.