We were in Vancouver, BC on Saturday morning, on the way to breakfast, when I tripped on a curb and fell onto my knees. Shit oh dear, as they say. The two Bobs helped me to my feet and I went on my way with my dignity battered—not to mention my knees. By Sunday morning they had all the colors of a Wurlitzer jukebox and I expect they'll get worse for a couple of days (the knees, not the Bobs). It sure is apparent that doing this at age 69 is a lot more problematic than age 16...
