I have not been well these last few days. In fact, I have been as unwell as I can ever remember: unable to eat, unwilling to jump the small distance into my place on the sofa and, when we went out yesterday morning, for a shorter trundle than usual because Kemo Sabe knows me so well she could see I still wasn’t myself, I jogged along several sedate paces behind her – demeanour and pace both entirely alien to me. As I dictate this, I am recovering. Though the vet had initially thought there was nothing much wrong a couple of magic injections couldn’t rectify, yesterday morning when it was clear I still felt really poorly, Kemo Sabe took me back in for an x-ray and, before I knew it, I was recovering from an abdominal operation during which a long, thick piece of seaweed was removed from my small intestine. There are still small bits to be passed naturally, but they are in the colon so it’s only a matter of time now I’m back on the dinners again until they emerge naturally. How I long to be back with the boys, looking up at the wonders on the television, with all the routines in place once again.
My emergency has overshadowed the production and tone of the piece I was preparing about how much fun we’ve all been having watching and responding to our amazing Olympic team. As we’re coming up to the last few days of competition, I thought I’d share some pictures of Barnaby with you, enjoying a range of activities and national achievements. Above you see him enjoying the golf, for him an unmissable spectacle as it includes the use of a single ball whose progress across the greensward is punctuated by visitations of capybara and cayman: what a hoot! As one after another the various disciplines unfolded, and the medals mounted in events as disparate as badminton, diving, dressage, gymnastics, kayaking, swimming, sailing, taekwondo, hepthathlon, not to mention the cycling – with all those races with funny titles – our interest has been held and our knowledge of human determination deepened. Hats off to all those who work so hard to become consistent performers in their field. On Wednesday, before my first abortive visit to the vet, my mind overcame matter as I ran out to retrieve my beloved ball. My return was slow and my deliberation rightly read by she who knows me better than anyone as the best sign yet that something was really, really wrong. I hope that when I am fully fit I will enjoy my running again for, truly, it is my metier and I am a champion in my own right.