The Happy Hipster

 What level of impairment does it take to stop us challenging the upper levels of windsurfing? Two new hips? Apparently not.

I came round in the recovery room staring at the ceiling feeling strangely euphoric – that’s morphine for you. It was a happy bubble that was soon to be pricked by the fine-boned doctor standing over me, who had just done the operation.

“So doc,” I said grinning inanely, “how’s it looking?” “Mr Hart,” he replied with the look of a Victorian head master, “you have the knee of a seventy year old,” (I was 31 at the time). “Well I better give it back then,” I said before creasing up in drug-induced hysterics.

From his stony expression, he’d evidently heard that one before and then delivered the killer line. “You really need to rethink what you do with your life – professional sport is over for you.” He explained that I had irreparable damage to the joint surface that would get ever worse the more I jumped up and down on it. Not even the finest quality morphine could soften that blow.

But then shortly after, in walked Magnus. Magnus was the senior surgeon with whom I had my initial consultation; and as a former rugby-player, was an altogether different animal.

“What’s the matter old boy? Don’t tell me … old misery-guts has been to see you … bloody good young surgeon, does a better job at that fiddly stuff than me, but he’s never done a day’s sport in his life. Doesn’t get it. Thinks anyone who plays silly games is an unnecessary burden on the NHS.”

“So will I really have to give up windsurfing?”

“Bloody hell no! We’ll keep you going with a trim here and tuck there. Just keep it strong and probably best to give up squash and marathon running.”

“So when will I have to?” I asked slightly more optimistically.