Stairway to heaven

Knees were on a smooth road to recovery when all of a sudden they swerved off that path... and on to a speaker.

Saturday night: I was a Champagne bottle disguised as a human. Arrived at Tiger after free-bubbly, free-food, free-hot-men Loeries party at The Reserve in skin-tight Kate Moss number, heels and a champagne glass stashed in my clutch. Had asked friends earlier that night at Hudsons to promise me that, no matter how much I begged and pleaded and bargained, they would NOT let me on to speaker that evening. My knees were going downhill and were not happy, and they deserved a bit more TLC from their owner. However, upon arrival on Le Tigre d-floor, I saw the most fabulous thing... A gorgeous little white sparkly staircase had been installed on the floor, leading most magnificently up to the speaker platform itself... Brilliant! Inspired! No more leaping up awkwardly in heels, sitting on spilt Brutal Fruit then flashing knickers to fellow inebriated jammers in an attempt to stand. This was just too inviting... just too tempting. And so... I glided elegantly up pretty staircase to 'stage' and proceeded to rock my socks off for a solid hour, high-fiving the DJ at regular intervals. Bad friends made no attempt to stop me. Bad friends cheered me on and passed me drinks. Bad knees got worse. But good night got great!!

Good night resulted in very bad headache.

Anyway, so three days later and my hangover has finally subsided leaving me with flu, a chesty cough and gammy knees (yum). So am off to see knee specialist on Friday.

Me: 'Is it bad? IS HE GOING TO AMPUTATE?'
Physio: 'No Olive. Relax.'
Me: 'Is this the end of my sporting career?'
Physio: 'What sporting career?'
Me: 'Will I get bionic knees? Will I have to wear Forrest Gump knee braces?'
Physio: 'If anything he'll give you a cortisone injection under both knee caps to help with fluid and movement.

Oh. My. God.

'WHAT?!?!?!?! Injection... under my KNEECAPS??!

The sheer shock caused me to topple off the physio bed.

'Are you f***ing KIDDING?!' I scream from the floor.

Physio not sure whether to laugh or help me up.

I was so pale, physio had to go downstairs and buy me a coke before I could stand up. Told him I needed someone to hold my hand on Friday. He promptly shoved his in his pockets and ended our session... 

A part of me is slightly embarrassed about visiting knee surgeon again. Back in 2007 when I was wild and crazy on the slopes, an unihibited, fearless 20-year-old with no concern for my limbs and life, I tore my ACL in Vail on an evil black-run mogul that totally came out of nowhere. (It was blizzarding and my vision was compromised. Or perhaps that was the wine I'd had with lunch...) Anyway, after my operation, ever so high on miracle-worker morphine (very dangerous indeed to trust me with my own morphine button), I woke up to see surgeon and dashingly goodlooking assistant at his side. Morphine got the better of me...

Me, slurring, eyes half closed: 'I don't think we've met.'
Hot Assistant: 'I'm Von Boorman. I just assisted on your operation'
Me: You're not a boring man at all. Can you assist me in adjusting my robe?'
HA: 'Boorman is my name.'
Me: 'Don't wear it out! You're fabulously goodlooking. Can I have a hug.'
HA: 'Stop pressing that morphine button.'
Me: 'Do I press your buttons?'
HA: 'I think you're being inappropriate...'
Me: 'I think you're inappropriately hot.'

... I attempted to reach out for his doctor's coat, at which point I passed out again, probably drooling, my mum says with a smile on my face. Needless to say, every visit to the surgeon's office after that he'd either avoid my gaze or not attend the session. Hoping he won't be at appointment on Friday. May have to go disguised as a crutch.

Saw Friends With Benefits last night. Absolutely hilarious. But, we all know that that simply doesn't happen in real life. "The perfect man doesn't drink, smoke, cheat... Or exist."

I do now know that I want to live in New York or LA for two years though!... As long as I can take freezo powder and Hunters Dry with me.