I hurt my back last week being foolhardy. Dear Mr Kettle had to take several days off work to look after things on the home-front (while I lay on the couch pointing and decreeing things, like "There, man, the boy needs a sandwich!" and "I need a vanilla Drumstick - quick quick!").
Now that I am on the mend I'm wondering whether perhaps I should take better care of myself and, heavens, maybe even give exercise a go?
I've heard about exercise. In fact, I think we even have an exercise bike? It's just that I can't tell where the clothes racks end and the exercise bike begins.
On the plus side, I do actually have a pair of sneakers now. They're so clean and white it's like they've never been worn, which makes sense because they haven't ever actually been worn.
Don't get me wrong; I love sport. I thoroughly enjoy watching the Iron Man series on telly, and I've even been to the Australian Open (where I athletically lugged the picnic basket around all day).
It's just that actually doing exercise seems like such hard work, and what with my bad back and all, I don't know, it seems better not to risk it.