threes

They, whoever they are, say that bad luck comes in threes.  At least I think so.

Anyway, I hope that isn’t the case given my run of misfortune which has lasted for, oh let’s see, three years.  But lately things seem to be getting worse.  I caught a cold.  Three weeks ago. See the pattern?  And it is still getting worse.  But forget that.

You see, this week I have had two falls in the garden at home.  I fear falling above everything.  Myeloma has weakened my bones and I’m scared of getting any more breaks.  Both occasions I lost my footing, first falling over a plant pot and then some fresh air which must, I can only assume, have tripped me up.

So, I really hope there isn’t a third fall to round things off and prove the prophesiers right.

My wife is nagging me to go see my doctor about my cold.  But I don’t want to.  Not now, not with Christmas on the near horizon.  I don’t want to risk having to go into hospital again with all that entails, and I know that with my luck as it is that’s what’ll happen.

Anyway, I’m really fed up.  Bruised, battered (but not broken – yet) and fed up.

no, no; I said threes