And what if you can’t write?

What’s the worst thing that could happen?

If you’d have asked me on 9 January it would have been not finishing the London Marathon in April.

Not raising enough money for The Calvert Trust.

I couldn’t imagine what would happen on 10 January. Or how, six months later, life could be so different.

So here I am. I didn’t run the marathon. I can’t do yoga, or ride my bike. I can’t flush the loo, wipe my backside or press through my thumb.

My right arm is skew-whiff – off – bent – wonky.

The fabulous, competent, capable arm isn’t.

Every time I hit the range of motion extension, I get that “something hit my funny bone” wave of nausea.

My arm. My wonderful, capable, right arm, is a bit damaged.