My neighbour’s been pinching the figs from over the back fence again. Get your own fruit trees, girl! She’s a lovely lass, which just makes it all the more irritating – I can hardly give her a piece of my mind, not when she’s just told me that she’s making fig muffins for her fiance to take on the drive down to Melbourne tomorrow.
Okay, so maybe I do have an excess of overhanging fruit at the moment, and it might be better spent on fuelling this lad’s career than feeding the bats. What does he do again? Something to do with allied health, I’m pretty sure. Is he physio, or a remedial massage therapist? Something like that.
Anyway, he’s off to do some kind of ‘professional development’ activity this weekend – a dry needling training course, god love him – that can’t be done here in Geelong. I’m suspicious of things like that. All this new-fangled nonsense… is it really more effective than an epsom salt bath?
I suppose I could pay more attention when those two chat to me over the fence; then I’d have an inroad for enquiring about getting my hands on some of their finger limes. What was the story about this needling business in town? I’d best go and look it up.
Alright – here we go: trigger point dry needling courses. Melbourne has one running this weekend; that must be it. Despite my reservations, I have to admit that I’m intrigued. It all sounded like a bit of fuzzy nonsense when the girl brought it up, but it seems to be a legitimate manual therapy technique. It looks like a solid weekend of learning, too – the boy will probably be needing those fig muffins.
I wonder if this needling treatment could help with my knee? It’s been playing up something severe. Perhaps I could talk the lad into a trade: my figs for his manual therapy skills. A pain-free knee beats a basket of finger limes any day.