Back to the chiropractor yesterday, and a sense that maybe my back felt the tiniest bit better (keeping in mind I'm practically gargling ibuprofen these days, and that I also visited the physiotherapist and got a little benefit from some new stretching exercises):

"Now, you should know, maybe one in twenty people end up in screaming agony when I do what I'm about to do!" laughs the chiropractor, fists strategically placed on my spine in readiness for another punishing blow. I recline on a table somehow reminiscent of the platform Darth straps Han Solo to, following Lando's betrayal. "So you take it easy there, and we'll see how this goes!"


Not so bad. Except I get up this morning and suffer such deep-seated agony I gain an almost intellectual, even Clive Barkeresque appreciation for the experience. The only thing missing while I climb onto the couch and wait for the pain to pass is Pinhead making the occasional sardonic comment.

"It gets a lot worse before it gets a lot better," the woman from the upstairs PR agency tells me a couple of hours later as I hobble into the building where I work. "They don't tell you that the first couple of times you go to a chiropractor, in case you don't come back!"

Thanks for the tip.

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