These Arms of Mine

Two weeks ago I lost the use of one of my arms.

I should, of course, point out that it is only a temporary inconvenience before you all start suggesting I get myself training for Rio 2016. The Paralympics have indeed shown that almost anything is possible with only one arm or in some cases none at all – in the process scuppering any hope I might have had of garnering much sympathy for my situation – and so it is perhaps a little wrong for me to claim too much of a disability, particularly since six weeks doesn’t exactly stack up against the lifetime of inconvenience some people have to go through.

However, one thing is clear: living with only one arm is not that easy. In fact, I think it goes to show that God certainly knew what he was doing when he gave us two. Whether it’s hugging a loved one or squeezing the toothpaste on to the brush, two hands don’t half make the job easier...

Here are five things that two arms undoubtedly do better than one:

1) Semaphore

2) Getting peanut butter out of the jar and onto that piece of toast

3) Typing

4) Opening the pouch of cat food when your wife is late home from work and the cat is scratching everything in sight wondering just what it did to be denied its dinner

5) Climbing trees

It’s not all doom and gloom though. On Tuesday, I finally conquered the crisps, cutting open a packet with a pair of scissors while it rested against the bread board at the optimum severance angle. I was triumphant and rightly so, I feel. OK, so I haven’t exactly hits the heights of survival shown in the film 127 hours (definitely worth watching if you get the chance) but at least my world had a greater salt and vinegar flavour to it than the last 10 days had brought.

Typing has been a little harder. This blog post has been written with very few fingers at all, with the voice activation software on Windows 7 doing most of the work. I still have to talk though, so it’s not been a complete breeze. For some reason, they still haven’t invented a device that types out your thoughts so that you can just sit back on the sofa while your novel is written by the computer. Feel free to go on Dragons’ Den with that one if you can come up with a solution...

For now, I leave you with this thought: cherish your arms. Both of them. Look after them and keep them safe. And, the next time you’re spreading peanut butter with consummate ease, think of me munching on my dry bread, ducking under the ironing board to try and stop the cat scratching the chair and gazing longingly at that tree I could never climb.

In a few weeks I will be like the rest of you, opening pouches until there isn’t a pouch left to open. Until then, use your arms wisely my friends and – here comes the sentimental ending – give someone a big old hug this evening while you still can.

If they ask you what you’re doing, tell them you’re doing it for Sam.

A Day at the Races

On Saturday evening, I met the superhumans.

When I say met, I do of course mean that I sat at a considerable distance and waved a cheap plastic flag in their direction but, in this time of goodwill and community spirit, I’m sure you’ll permit me more than a slight nod in the direction of my good friend hyperbole.

It was some meeting too. Pistorius’ blades sliced through the air at a considerable speed, a Chinese triple-jumper leapt a full two metres further than his nearest competitor and Jason Smyth’s Bolt-esque domination of the 100m was quite simply incredible to behold. I clapped and I clapped and I clapped some more, ever wary that all this over-eager clapping could at any moment send my shoulder rocketing out of joint to rack up dislocation number 11, and waved with patriotic pride as the British runners generously donated the medal positions to our international visitors.

Walking through the Olympic Park for hours on end as we awaited the athletics it was clear that something was clearly not right. People were actually smiling and enjoying being in the presence of other people. The lion was indeed well and truly laying down with the lamb and not even the presence of two poorly placed trees slightly blocking the view of the big screen could dampen the mood. Rather, a general sense of unease permeated the park as we all realised that we simply had nothing to moan about. In fact, perhaps the only complaint we could have is that things didn’t actually turn out quite so badly as we all thought they would. Surely they could have at least forgotten the ramps for the wheelchairs or something, couldn’t they, so that we could all enjoy a good grumble?

Alas, the world has seen us as we have never even seen ourselves before. We are, it seems, a people who can cheer everyone on through triumph and adversity, who can put our metaphorical arms around anyone and anything that could do with a good hug, who can get things right when it matters most.

It’s all a bit tiring though, isn’t it? I’m sure we’ll all take a deep sigh of relief when we can finally stop celebrating things. Christmas is going to get a raw deal this year and Fireworks night might as well not even bother turning up.

Sparklers? That’s nothing. We’ve seen Becks on a speed boat. We’ve seen Jessica Ennis and Mo Farah. We’ve seen the world sparkle.

Put that on your bonfire.