Okay, I need to put everything down so I can move on. Let’s see…

After writing last Thursday’s entry I kinda crashed and took Friday off to let my legs recover, which made sense as I wasn’t really able to walk, walking being kinda essential to the whole “walking around Moseley” part of the job, and not a problem as I had planned to take a day off in the middle. So on Saturday morning I was back in south Birmingham at Nat and Jez’s where the leaflets were being stationed for me, Nat being the chairperson of Moseley in Bloom, and another day’s marching began.

Thing is, it’s not actually very interesting. You’d think it would be, walking down every street twice, going up to every door, all of which are as different as the people in them. But it’s not. The deal is to get it done as quickly as possible as I’m on a flat rate, not an hourly one, so all my attention is directed to getting directly to the door, figuring out where the letterbox is and guessing whether it’s going to be an easy slot-through or a two-handed struggle-bugger, and then judging the potential for cutting across boundaries to next door. I set myself breaks every hour or so and in-between it was just walking, walking, walking. No time to observe, let alone take photos.

Saturday I spent 10 hours out. Sunday I managed about six before my feet started to hurt. Whereas the thigh muscles were starting to bulk up and deal well with the work my ankles were wearing away and my Magnums, while great for general purpose stomping and the like, were not really designed for this kind of marathon. Looks like I’m going to have to get some decent trainers if I want to continue this line of work, which I think I do. At least I have some more lined up, but I digress.

Monday, what should be the final day, and I have a brainwave. I’m being held back by the pain. All I need to do is get through the pain and my legs will get used to the work and all will be fine. So painkillers it is. Dosed up on Paracetamol I put in another eight hours and by the end of it feel tired but unsurprisingly okay. There’s an estate of flats and a long stretch of road to go but I’ll mop them up on Tuesday. Monday night I get home and start to feel a little shakey, shivering and sweating. Not much sleep is had and I feel like I’ve got some kind of flu. Whether this has come from physical exhaustion, getting caught in the hail a few days previous, exposure to baby Harry’s baby germs or a combination of all three and more, I don’t know, but like the hero in a schlocky action flick I’m determined to see through the last reel.

Interestingly the actual walking is now not a problem and I do the last three hours with ease. It’s when I stop that it all falls apart, and I’ve been stopped now for a couple of days, emptying my sinuses into mucus laden handkerchiefs while working on Brenda’s site and crashing in front of season 2 of 24.

And on Monday I’m back in Moseley delivering another batch of leaflets. The weird thing is, it’s worth it. What that says about my life I’m not really sure.