HALFLING: A FAREWELL TO LEGS - Part 6

The sixth in the series about my collapse, surgery and subsequent life in a wheelchair, and the attitude of society towards the disabled - not quite humans, but ‘Halflings’.

When people are polled on what ‘super-power’ they would like to possess, after the inevitable perving ‘cloak of invisibility’ comes ‘time travel’. I’ve always favoured the latter, for totally trivial reasons like having a threesome with a young Jim Morrison and a young Marc Bolan. But I now feel as though I’ve experienced time-travel this week, and trust me, next time I’m opting for the mysterious mantle of masturbation.

I wrote in the Mail on Sunday in January 2025:

‘Last night I dreamt I could walk - the way I used to dream I could fly when I was a kid. I woke up shivering in my own muck at 4 in the morning. The nurse cleaned me up; I couldn’t get back to sleep, and I’m not a crier. So I turned on my laptop and here I am, writing about it.’ And here I am back here again, shivering in my own muck at 4 in the morning, writing about it for your delectation, in the Royal Sussex County Hospital in Brighton, where it all started. Only this time my poor old Halfling body is much weakened.