Early Autumn 2007 and I’m in a bed at Redlands Hospital, Bristol, wondering what happened. I can hear the Talking Heads “ this is not my beautiful life, this is not my beautiful car….” in my head but I can’t remember the name of the song. That bothers me not one little bit as I have other fish to fry: Jessie was there when I came round from my double discectomy and spinal fusion and asked me to wiggle my toes and they moved. Bliss. I went back to sleep smiling.


There is a gap of a couple of months, painkillers and drinking mostly, not a good look for a man with two kids and another on the way. I wore a plastic collar to hold my head on while new bone grew through the two titanium cages in my neck. The amazing Mr Porter put them in to me and filled them with bone dust that he removed with a grinder from the vertebrae behind my voice box.


Anyway I was a mess and needed to get better quick because I had plans and the clock was ticking louder than ever. Mr Porter told me that it was a good job but the fix wouldn’t last forever and that I should get on with my life. That kind of advice really helps you get up in the morning.


For me, getting up in the morning meant getting strong enough to get back down to Cornwall 3 days a week and seeing some results.