Can we just take it as read now that every weekend is as busy as a really, really busy thing? Cos I've given up trying to convey just how busy it is. Ah good.
The power of persuasion
So I get to about 3.30pm on Friday and then it hits me, like the proverbial sack of excrement. I forgot to phone for Sid's prescription, that he'd specifically asked me to do and reminded me about only that morning. Arrghhh fuckety doodads. Prescription line closed, only one thing for it: call up the surgery and PLEAD. The result has to be some sort of record: from request to filled prescription in about 2.5 hours. This is what can happen when (a) you are very very very nice to people, and (b) the planets are favourably aligned.
Friday night: when Knickers and I returned home there was a chicken in Q's manger, which I only discovered when I was about to dump several sections of hay on her head. There were two in T's stable and the rest out the back. Took us about an hour and a half to do evening stables and attend to everyone, at which point the only thing to do was to retire indoors and bolt the door. Otherwise, fast food: check; Kopparberg cider: check Shitty film: check.Oh, and a message to say that students had reoccupied the Library.
Saturday
Knickers did earlies for me but I was up about 7:30 anyway. Why? you might reasonably enquire. Well, because there are only so many hours in the day and very few of those are conducted in daylight atm. Needs must and all that. Nevertheless I was feeling particularly battered and it somehow took me about an hour and a half to put up four beds, do waters and hay, and oversee the goats doing their thing about the yard. We've taken to letting the chickens out during the day (it's either that or they let themselves out anyway so we might as well maintain some vestige of an idea that it's us running the show).
Did the rounds of farm shop, feed merchants etc and that took me an hour and a half too. Quick restorative bacon butty and coffee (more a 15 minute affair) then back out there to work the boys. Lacking energy of any description I worked them both in hand, which is no bad thing after three weeks off. Both boys were full of the joys of, er, deepest winter and treated me to some very Big Trots indeed; T going for the power extension (jaw dropping) and Q for the passage, albeit one using no postural muscles whatsoever and his tail up over his bum like an Arabian, but a joy to behold. So nice to see them strutting their stuff and enjoying being horses.
It seemed to take ages to get everyone sorted in the evening, but this was because I was starting to feel rather overwrought with tiredness. Luckily Sid was cooking so I was able to take myself off for a nice hot bath clutching a mince pie and a glass of Baileys. Bliss.
The meal was fab, and turned into a bit of a celebration for Knickers having recently got two firsts and a 2-1 in her courseworks and Sid for having broken the back of a particularly testy piece of code. So we had chicken and asparagus soup to start, pheasant au vin (courtesy of Pheel) which was my first time eating pheasant - very nice - and sticky toffee pudding made by Knickers, all washed down with a very nice Amarone. Sid broke open the home made sloe gin and all I can say is Jesus Christ! To be handled with the greatest care.
Late night ensued.
Sunday
Knickers did earlies again and I was up about 8 to prep for morning lesson with Mandy. Somehow managed to be prepped and in the arena for 9:20, which was a bit previous since the lesson wasn't until 10, but still it made for a nice slow and considered warmup, no bad thing for T and his sticky stifle. At one end of the arena Q was charging at T with his ears laid back and at the other the mares (natch! every time without fail) chose to graze right next to the fence so T was doing the head down snaky neck herding thing. For my part I chose to ignore it all and just get on anyway. It was either that or just give up and go back indoors.
The lesson was excellent for two reasons. First, the first trot was soft and flowing and really rather splendid, so I was thrilled with that. The second was that we worked on some very nice forward and soft trot with him really out to the contact and relaxed. As he's quite a bit of a bigger mover than Q and I've had to put on my big girl pants to really just go forwards with him, this was really quite something and I could have ridden him all day. I could feel him flagging after a while though as he's had little work, so we finished before he felt the need to voice any concerns about it. Really thrilled with him!
What next: breakfast, quick ten minute sit and sort out everyone. Goats out and about on the yard, chickens also. Finish off beds, do waters, fill nets with haylage, fill hay mangers etc etc etc. Put goats out with T. All seems well. Took Puppy for a walk, went shopping. And at this juncture I really must pause for a moment and reflect on the deep irritation of othe old boy who works on the checkout at our local supermarket. I guess he's about 60 or so and he's a pleasant enough chap but I just wish he could find it within his heart to either (a) move at a pace a little further along the velocity quotient than "glacial" and indeed, it would be so much better if he could do something about that habit of his of thrusting each item at the bar code reader in a way that is both aggressive and deeply suspicious. Often as not, said bar code reader doesn't stand a chance in hell and the unfortunate customer then has to stand there while he taps in the bar code number with equal parts ferocity and pause. I find this an exquisite torture, to stand there while this wrongness is perpetuated time after time, and I literally have to grab myself around the throat to keep myself from screaming. I thank God there's not a precipitous cliff in the vicinity, or I might have had to fling myself off it before now. Likewise, it's just as well there's no handy vat of acid or implement for the plucking out of eyes, or I might well have done myself some serious mischief while standing there on innumerable occasions, waiting for him to complete this series of really rather simple tasks. And the worst of it is he is quite sweet. Just to finish off the boiling cauldron of emotions that he has perpetuated within, he dares at the conclusion to utter the words "have a nice evening". Or what's left of it, presumably.
When I finally made it back to Luso Towers, I made spag bol and industrial quantities of cauliflower cheese (ultimate comfort food) with the assistance of (a) Metallica and (b) a Kopparberg cider. Bring the girls in, feed round, and finally, at last, SIT ON ARSE. Eat copiously. And so endeth another weekend.
ONE MORE WEEK OF WORK BEFORE THE HOLS **WOOT**
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