Chicken Knees

Ana, my regular morning carer, has been on holiday for the last few weeks, and Veronica, who’s supported me on and off for the last few years, has been taking her place to help me get washed and ready for work.

This morning our established routine was given an added injection of raucous laughter.

And the butt of the joke? My knees.

My poor old knees have a hard life – I crawl on them, drop down on them, and generally treat them pretty badly. As a result their skin’s discoloured and dry.

When Veronica was rubbing cream into them this morning she grinned and said, ‘Chicken knees.’ She went on, ‘Your knees feel exactly like the lumpy bit on a chicken’s leg.’ I said her rubbing the cream in was like basting – at which point we both burst into fits of giggles.

It was a good few minutes before we were composed enough for the basting to continue.

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