A week of uppy downyness if ever there was one. Tuesday am, at an hour best described as ungodly, Sid sprains his ankle. Goes to work anyway. Comes back late after marathon epic in a lot of pain with ankle swollen like a balloon's doodad, which calls for an immediate strapping and the application of ice. Concern that it might well require hospital visit. Weds morning, he can't put any weight on it and given ongoing lack of flexion in left ankle, is pretty much immobile. Work from home. Tis also day 1 of an endeavour of his of which I am not permitted to speak but which involves a lot of frantic gum chewing and nail biting.

Wednesday afternoon it starts snowing. Quite a bit. Really, quite badly. Continues throughout the night and next morning, you could bet your favourite relative on it, no trains to London. Work from home. In front of roaring fire - yay! And just as well because the people who do the boys (henceforth TPWDTB) couldn't get to us on account of the snow. The news is full of the usual chaos that is visited upon the region whenever there is snow, even though they said they were prepared for it this time.

I had a nasty suspicion that TPWDTB wouldn't make it up to ours in time for Friday's 9am farrier appointment so was inordinately glad I'd requested a short notice day's leave to cover that probability. Ahhh great, and then a whole day off, stretching ahead like a long stretchy thing. I know, I thought, I'll paint the little room. One easy way to compress a long leisurely day of nothingness into a span of time crammed with activity, tiredness and ultimately satisfaction.

I did learn one thing though and it is this: if you wail away to your nanod while painting, try not to do so when there is a conference call between lots of banking types going on downstairs. It could have been worse though; nobody mentioned anything about the background noise of a pack of rabid hyenas savaging a gaggle of rabbits on the lawn, or why a small baby was being summarily strangled while being simultaneously dipped in a vat of boiling acid. There was a time when I'd have been mortified by this, but imagine my horror to find I am now so old that I no longer care. Am now within spitting distance of old batdom, wandering the streets with a pram full of cat food, smelling overpoweringly of urine.

So to horsey doings. Q is a complete sexpot and I love him unreservedly. He was a bit spooky and silly today and I wasn't in the best of humours for a number of reasons (I was going to indulge in a minor irritation here about it all but I find I simply can't be arsed) so it took some mental railroading to get myself into an appropriate place - which actually worked out well this time as it gave me a no nonsense edge for the spooking and I find I have to develop a zen-like state to get my head away from the sodding barking dogs on the farm across the road. They DO NOT STOP all the time we are in there and I must have a word with the farmer about it. If I let the irritation in I'm doomed.

Anyway. He was feeling really nice through his back and I felt quite decent in terms of seat. I have a pic of Julio Borba on my laptop which serves as the ultimate incentive for correct riding - check him out on Facebook! - so I keep that in mind now when riding. The big thing for the day was SI on circles in walk and trot, milling (much better than last week) and culminating in walk pirs, in which there were some really, really nice feeling steps ad the difference appeared to be in the effort we made in collecting and preparing the walk first.

T in hand today and milling for the first time in ages and lots of stretchy bendy stuff. Didn't do any canter work with either of them today, which may have to do ... oh never mind. It's nearly over. V pleased with T who was his overachieving sensitive self.