Happy to report relative lack of injuries, since hamstring recovered. Until, that is, last weekend. I was feeding R’s chickens, cat and plants as part of a reciprocal Easterly arrangement. The girls had dashed into the henclosure and checked for eggs – very excitedly report that not only WAS there an egg, but the chicken had decorated it for us:
while I dealt with both ends of the chickens’ requirements. Having done this, I should have just walked away – just WALKED AWAY! But O called to me and invited me to have a go on the zipwire. Look, I really should have known better, okay? M is a stripling lass of 9 and she has outgrown the zipwire. I am considerably older, taller (but not for long) and, most importantly, heavier, than M. Had I stopped to think, I may have realized that this whole zipwire thing was doomed to failure. But I didn’t. I breezily reached out for the holdy-onny bit which you hold on to, strolled to the top end of the wire, took a GOOD run-up, hoisted myself off the ground and was swiftly and unceremoniously dragged, screaming like a woman possessed, a good 20 yards along the ground (in my white trousers). Yes, I know – it’s my own silly fault! And I have a twisted ankle on one side, a sprained knee and scratched ankle on the other, and two very sore arms & shoulders to remind me not to do it again! Thankfully, R's garden is not overlooked...
All else has been relatively quiet (by which I mean a mad whirlwind of one crisis after another, but nothing long-term or memorable). I did think we were being invaded by bees last Thursday night, when I found no less than six in the hall and kitchen, but it turned out that they were probably just disorientated by that afternoon’s hail and thunder storms. This has left me with an enduring sense of guilt, as after carefully catching and releasing the first four, I began to panic that there was a hive in the cupboard under the stairs, or my pants drawer or somewhere, and, as there is a history of serious bee-sting allergies in the family, as yet untested on the girls, I decided I had better start killing them, pour encourager les autres, as it were. Now that it turns out that they were just lost and trying to find their way back to their hive, wherever that may be (but NOT in my pants drawer) (or under the stairs), I feel bloody awful about it. Somehow, amends must be made. Sorry, bees.
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