Until a couple of years ago, I walked 10 or 12 kilometres a day. And wherever I travelled that’s what I did between glasses of Margaret River chardonnay.

Walking was my therapy and a glass of wine my reward.

On my last visit to Papua New Guinea in 2017, my back newly repaired, I trekked in the outback of Simbu, stepped gingerly through the mud at Goroka market and strutted around the big smoke at Vision City, all fortified by an occasional SP Export.

Not these days. Confined to barracks for the best part of a couple of years.

Even coronavirus came as welcome relief because everyone was similarly constrained.

Anyway I’ve now once more transited the Bruce (three acceleration lanes, tailgating optional, interesting hand signals) for that appointment at the Wesley and a sixth – and hopefully last – work of art on my spine. This time the full eight hour version.

Not one to over-inflate expectations, I think of it as the last roll of the dice before wheelchairs.

I'm by now very familiar with this stuff and could ramble on interminably about fusions, laminectomies, decompressions, intubations, rebores, regrinds and other highly technical medical terminology you wouldn’t understand.

No, you just wouldn’t.

To cut to the chase, this enforced spell in hospital and rehab will ground me with consequences unknown.

So here’s the book of rules to cover us in PNG Attitude for the next little while.

Re: Your carefully nuanced articles

My computer will be bedside and when I can use it, I shall. So keep emailing the usual prose, poetry, parables and pontifications to the customary address.

As I resume capability, this material will be edited and published in the usual way.

Unfortunately, I cannot effectively edit from my iPhone. But I can read what you write and think about it, if that’s any comfort.

Meanwhile, I've been in receipt of some good stuff recently and that'll keep us going for a few days.

But if I miss a beat or two, you know why.

Re: Your killer comments

Yep, you’ll send comments; who can stop that?  I can authorise but not edit them on my iPhone for technical reasons.

And edit your comments before publication I must. For control freak reasons.

So if you defame some poor wretch, blast me to pieces with SHOUTY CAPITALISATION, fail to use a dictionary to correct abysmal spelling or commit some other crime against law or language, I will not let your precious words escape until I'm able to edit them.

And, as I've just been explaining, I can do that only on my computer.

Of course, those elegant thrusts that pass muster and require no intervention, will get through unscathed to an eager readership.

Please bear with me for the next while. It may be some days.

The Bruce - also known as "the highway of shame". This example of puzzling lane marking north of Noosa

And take solace in the thought that it’ll probably hurt me more than you.

There may be other rules you ought to be aware of, but I’ve forgotten them.

Keep writing.