I think I’ve written before about the joy of nine. Nine is the nicest number. It’s lovely when you have a blood test and wait, shaking in your boots, for the results, only to be told: “Nine”. I couldn’t actually wait for the appointment with my chemo doctor. I got on the phone and asked a nurse to give me a sneak preview. She came back on the phone and said nine very casually, in passing, as though it would have been all the same if it were some other number. Great wave of relief. Another two and three-quarters months of getting on with everything until the next blood test and the next set of results.

That sorted, I set off for Sydney for my three-monthly checkup, which would now just be a matter of just going through the motions. I got myself to Sydney and set myself up in my temporary lodgings in Newtown amongst the kelpies (actually two kelpies, a kelpie-border collie cross and a visiting whippet) and then set off for the city. I discovered a 422 bus was coming shortly – all good. But then, talking to my fellow bus-stop person, I realised I’d forgotten something. I needed an Opal Card. You can’t just get on a bus and give the driver your small change any more; you’ve got to go to a nearby newsagent and get this card, which is all very wonderful but not if you want to catch THIS bus right NOW. I dashed half a block down to the newsagent, got hold of my Opal Card and saw that the bus was just arriving. I darted for it and my knee went into a spasm. I limp-hopped as fast as I could but the bus wasn’t waiting for me. The driver’s head was deliberately turned the other way. People on the street were sympathetic. One woman thought I’d actually been hit by the bus because all the events – run, bus, limp – seemed to clash together. I said no, my knee just went, all by itself.

So I limped away off, expecting that any minute now, my knee would shake itself back into position. But it didn’t. I went on limping. I went on fuming about the 422 bus when really it was all about my darting and dashing and not proceeding in the proper stately manner. I’m still limping but my Bathurst GP tells me I just have a minor medial meniscus tear, aka Sore Knee, and it’ll right itself over the next week or so. Anyway, here’s another fave tune from Sesame Street: