At least six months, perhaps more, have passed since I've been to the beach.  The beach is only 35 minutes away.  No fault but my own.  But I went yesterday.  Took one friend and met another there.  With Mikaela of course.  Warm day, sunny, west wind blowing so the combers were glassy.  Late afternoon sun gilding the sea and dunes and beach with gold.  Perfect.  Looked forward to letting Mikaela display her goofy side and her incredible beauty as she stretches out in that graceful greyhound gallop.

WIthin 10 seconds of letting her off the lead, in an excess of joie de vivre she'd slammed into the side of my legs knocking me to the ground and straining the tendons around my left knee.  The pain took my breath away.  Give me a minute I kept saying.  Just a minute.  When they helped me up I could walk, with difficulty.  The more I walked the better it was so we walked for over two hours.  

Then drove home, stiffened up and in agony getting out of the car.  Pain is relative.  My right leg which has been so bad I almost called the osteopath yesterday, is now my 'good' leg.  

Hilarious really.  

A bit of reaction last night, teeth chattering, some shock setting in?  But this morning, better than expected.  Am mindful of every step and I move very slowly, but I can move.  So with time and care will be back to normal before I know it.

Mikaela, bursting with energy and usually a black streak in the first throes of freedom on the beach, crouched in front of me while I was down, my butt getting wet in the sand.  Did she know?  Was my aura, for want of a better word, jagged and sparking with white hot pain?  I'll never know.  But am sure she never meant to hurt me.

Heritage again in lockdown with a gastroenteritis outbreak.  So got to see Richard last Friday and then it was shut down again.  Think of him every day.

Don't think I'll ever quite come to terms with him 'in there' while I am out here.  I know, I know but still....