Right back to it

It's time to get back to work, albeit steadily

Slowly, it’s all coming back. There’s a definite limp, and every time I descend the stairs I am sent back to that early spring Sunday lunchtime - the slip down a single step, the snap and pop, the bizarre sensation of bone grinding on bone. But I can walk steadily now, weed with impunity and potter in the garden as if I’m 30 years beyond my current 44 trips around the sun.

This, too, means that work, gardening work, is back on the agenda. It’s closing in on 10 weeks since I last cut back hedges, bagged leaf litter and ran the strimmer over tall grass. Writing work has come and gone, but by and large I have found myself confined to the inside of my home, doing too much idle scrolling, reading when I can, and, on some days, battling a level of fatigue that is surely the result of too much time indoors and my ADHD-addled brain going into overdrive, with no place to put its focus.

At first, these long days at home were a blessing. I watched assorted Westerns on terrestrial TV, ate cocodemol like Smarties and grinned through the pharmaceutically reduced pain. But as spring has shown itself, there are days where I have felt utter frustration at my body.

It’s against Dr’s orders to work, but then no money comes in when I don’t. I have seen, for the first time in my life, the shortcomings of the welfare system. Where important documents get lost thanks to the use of an official Freepost PO box, agents don’t have records of your previous calls and ‘fit’ notes get filed incorrectly, so the money you are entitled to takes an entire nine weeks to appear. If this is happening to someone who can handle a modicum of financial pain, what about those who cannot advocate for themselves or have a partner who can take the strain? As usual, my brain is a mess of a million thoughts about why systems don’t work and why humanity always seems like an afterthought for those unable to work.

Mercifully, I have my first client in the diary next week. I’ve ramped up the horrors of Instagram advertising, put myself on Nextdoor and been out putting flyers through doors again. I’m up for the challenge. And, moreover, I need it. Not being able to walk in the Peak District has been a huge loss, although the joy of short strolls in the woods near my home has been immense. I have swum at the magical lido in Hathersage, the Peaks surrounding me, and felt lifted up by the buoyancy of the water and the fact that tacking out front crawl doesn’t hurt my still-fractured leg.

This is the bit where I struggle, though. In a literal sense, I could be running before I am able to walk. I want to be back out there, feeling the sun on my face, doing the simple labour that makes me content and, handily, solvent. But do it too soon and I’ll be back on the sofa, under a blanket, wondering why Gregory Peck has driven another cowboy off a cliff. I don’t need that moment again. But I know I really need to be back at it, feeling purpose, not feeling lost.

If you live in Sheffield and need some gardening work, find me on Instagram @joesgreengardens