Production Numbers

My goodness! Has it really been this long since my last post? Apologies, dear reader!

Since last I wrote, life seems to have been a series of production numbers one way or another so I'll fill you in on what's been happening over the next few posts.

Those of you reading my dear Arizaphale's blog would already be aware of one of them, being the sad damage done to my back in the line of duty!

One would not necessarily expect working in Charity to be hazardous to one's health, but alas this can be the case. Not only is there the virtual jostling for position with other, less worthy causes for the philanthropic dollar in a manner reminiscent of ye olde school tuck shop, there are the physical risks of putting on a function.

We do these all the time and the physical dangers vary with each event. At our May film night the major risks were getting high on the glue fumes coming from the 1,200 glitter coated goody bags being assembled in the office, and being trodden on in the crush of femininity rushing the seats for the premier of "Sex and the City". For the Ball there were the dangers of tripping over the hundred or so auction items and 65 cases of wine littered around our already disgracefully untidy offices and, on the night, breaking an ankle while trying to boogie in 4 inch heels.

A week or so ago we had a different challenge with our annual walkathon - herding about 150 people and a dozen or so dogs in varying degrees of costume (the dogs, not the people) through the registration area, past the face painter, down the beach, around the water station, back to the starting point, over to the sausage sizzle and home. This, in itself, presented no great difficulty. It was the carting of various supplies that proved the problem.

After all, a T-shirt by itself is not a particularly heavy item, but when you have 200 of them in 4 large boxes that have to be manouvered into the car for transport together with 500 hats and all the other paraphernalia required for such an event it can get a little tricky. My downfall was a container filled with water bottles. Having conveniently placed handles on either side, I suggested to a co-worker that we could pick up an end each and see if we could transport it to the waiting boot.

With the traditional "1, 2, 3 ..." I lifted ... and she didn't. Actually we both heard the 'pop' sound that (I discovered later) represented the tearing of a ligament and my immediate thought was "Oh shit, this is going to be bad". It was.

Ice on the back for almost two days had no impact whatsoever, movement was limited to a slow and painful stagger leaning on whatever was available, lying down was fine but turning over or getting up practically impossible and as for going to the loo ... yikes!

At the time, my Beloved was busy with a production number of his own (more of this later), working 16 - 18 hour days and not generally able to be of much assistance. Thank goodness for Arizaphale who, in true Bestie fashion, dropped everything to come over and fetch, carry and do anything else required. A doctor was called, drugs acquired and the process of "rest it until it gets better" commenced.

Somehow I don't think this "rest it" advice extended to herding people and dogs up and down beaches but when Charity calls, one must do one's duty ...