So again, I blink and two weeks have gone by, dammit. On the plus side we've managed not to acquire any more creatures, which is good. Also, Willow is now officially Dora's mini-me, now that Dora's got used to the idea of sharing us with another pooch and we have accustomed ourselves to the fact that a great deal of alarming-sounding growling, ear biting and grunting is completely normal. It's very sweet :)
Horse-wise things have been proceeding well with good lessons on both boys, although we're all looking forward to longer daylight hours. Even an hour at the end of the day helps take the pressure off. Speaking of pressure, we're developing more of an organised routine for all the daily doings, as I really was completely and utterly tatered at the arse end of last year and realised that something needs to give. I am therefore officially having a lie in every Saturday, which is bloody marvellous. Not only that but I am thoroughly reconciled with it, which means that I can enjoy it and work around it and absolutely not concern myself with all the things I should be doing, which is one of my bêtes noir. So that's good isn't it.
Speaking of horses and that whole juggling thing, I had a very weird dream on Friday night. I was riding Totilas, probably the most famous dressage stallion of the moment, in the car park at Goldies outside the main building.This would be strange enough on its own, but there was also a horse transporter in the same car park, loading a mare. I remember very clearly thinking that if I rode him near to the mare, it would add expression to his piaffe (it did). The guy loading the mare wanted to borrow my lunge surcingle so that he could attach some padding to the mare's chest (?) but I was reluctant to lend it to him because then I wouldn't be able to lunge Toto before I rode him and it would interfere with our training (!). Next thing, a work colleague from HR appeared at the far end of the car park and called me over, so Toto and I did a very creditable extended trot (I know, I know) over to her. Next thing, as is the way in dreams, I was walking down the corridor with her talking about saddles and was getting anxious because I'd left Toto just standing there in the car park, and there was the mare there. It was about then that I woke up. This is what my brain comes up with in response to the mulling I've been doing concerning how I might get the boys out and about while juggling all the other balls I have to juggle.
Today Knickers and I went to Bluewater, our local shopping mall. This is something we try to avoid where possible, but every now and again it has to be done. One of the main challenges for such an endeavour is trying to find suitable civilian clothing that is not encrusted with mud and/or horse shit, and believe me this can be a challenge of epic proportions unless specifically planned for. There are work clothes and yard clothes, and between the two there exists a gaping chasm occupied only by a single pair of jeans (for best) and a jacket that stays resolutely in the porch with the work gear, well away from the array of other jackets and fleeces, all of which are covered in mud and/or horse shit, and therefore unsuitable to be worn in the company of regular folks who don't understand these things. The reaction one gets, should one wear such items in such a setting, reminds me of the reaction I used to get back in the day when as a student I would deliberately court such by virtue of shocking pink or purple hair. That is to say, small children pointing and staring, and old people muttering about how there's just no respect for common decency these days.
I had an opticians' appointment first thing, which I wasn't looking forward to as I knew where it was going to lead, sure as eggs is eggs. I kept saying to Knickers, what if they tell me my eyes are no good and they'll have to remove them, until she threatened to cut out the middle man and do it for me with a rusty spoon :) So the upshot is I now have my first pair of glasses. Mmmph. Middle age beckons. What next? Things will begin to sag and fall off and soon I won't be able to remember my own name, or what it was that I went upstairs for.
And finally, Knickers has discovered a new dessert: "panna concrete".
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