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A double trailer truck, laden with quarry stone, ambled along the road. Filled with youth and invincibility, astride my new gleaming motorbike, I was in no mood to sit behind the lumbering giant. The road was straight, the view was clear. With a quick flick of the wrist and a tug on the throttle, I was soon passing the back corner of the truck. As I was just in line I noticed through the grimy dust covering its flanks, it was winking at me. Winking? It was about to turn, in front of me!

If I had not of survived the crash, this would be a piece of fiction. I would not be here to write it. The battle, man on motorcycle versus very large truck, was a one sided affair and not with a David and Goliath outcome. But like many struggles, there is a new order in the aftermath. A new order and a new vision.

The new vision was not immediate. Life has priorities and injury dictates these quite differently than when one is well. A busted back takes time to repair and unlike many things, the first one is the best. You might get a second chance, thankfully, but you have to learn to adjust and accommodate to the frailty and fragility of a second, reconditioned back.

Years passed, marriage came and went. I found myself in a ramshackle old house. The sort of house that was described by the real estate agents as " Quaint" and "Would suit someone with flair". It was however my first house on my own, my own canvas with which to create what I wanted.

My back over this time had performed remarkably well. I had learned not to overdo it. I learned a new language of tweaks and twinges, to feel and listen to the signs of strain. The new language was not always comprehensible. Through general misunderstanding and occasionally reckless disregard, I had been punished with a few days in hospital along the way and numerous times stricken in bed, panicking at the thought of having to move to visit the bathroom fearing the pain that would result. Oh how the body can laugh at your weakness.

But now I had a new house and a new garden. There was much to do and to fit the necessary jobs in with a busy work schedule and weekends with my children was an effort in itself. The hurried process of moving, had rendered me low. I envy the snail, so wonderfully self contained. Whereas the snail can up and go on a whim and the sniff of a lettuce leaf, I had to organize a couple of friends and a trailer. Budget removalists at your service. What friends will do for a cold beer. The unexpected price however was

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