One of Those Sort of Days

A man walks into a betting shop wearing a pair of boxer shorts and  slippers.  I don’t know what the punchline is but it was something I saw today as I drove through town.  That was after I had beeped at someone for stopping in the wrong place.  Someone who thought the red light was for him.  It wasn’t!  I waved him on and he waved back.  Dodo!  I’m not an irate driver.  Honestly!  It’s just been ‘one of those sort of days’.

I have been saying for a while that I should think about engaging in some form of cardiovascular exercise.  I don’t think riding does much for the heart, not in the way one usually expects exercise to.  It’s great for your core, as I discovered when Tim challenged us all to have a go at his daily exercise regime – the one he is using for his training to climb the 15 Peaks, in the summer.  He had us all being a plank: elbows and toes only, touching the ground.  No problem.  I was a plank quite comfortably for the duration of time set and could have been one for longer.  The boys were moaning beside me. 

But riding does not exercise the heart much.  Although, a jolly jaunt the other day took us up a path that, I think, someone has tried to build jumps out of sticks and logs on.  They’re lethal contraptions to negotiate for horses who don’t jump.  So that got the adrenaline pumping and then a low flying tree, with a branch across the path, advancing rather fast meant I got off rather rapidly to lead Splash through without injury.  I turned around to watch my fellow rider and his horse dance backwards under the tree.  My fellow rider concluded the dance with an embrace around his horse’s neck.  How affectionate.  My heart had some exercise in the excitement.

That was nothing to compare to the exercise it got today.  I was merrily wheeling the wheelbarrow along when suddenly “ka-bamb!”. Charlie attacked me.  He’d been sneaking up on me.  I shouted at him.  Ooh!  He scares me.  As soon as I was trundling off again he started running across the paddock towards me.  I saw him out of the corner of my eye and swung a kick at him.  So he came for me, both feet, wings out, feather ruffed up around his neck.  I screamed at him “Don’t you dare!” and swung both my legs back at him.  But dare he did and looked like he thought he was in a proper cock fighting ring.  “I’ll put you in the pot” is obviously not a strong enough threat.  But that really wasn’t the cardiovascular exercise I was after.

Exempt from any thoughts on health, but for convenience, we had Pizza for tea.  The dogs watched with glee as I pulled one from the oven and promptly dropped it.  Sunnyside down, the ham and pineapple hit the deck first.  I scraped it off the floor.   “Waste not want not”!  That pizza was mine and the dogs cleaned the floor for me (I cleaned it yesterday).

While the pizzas were cooking a call had come through from the living room, “Mum! A millipede has just disappeared down beside the cushions on the sofa”.  Oh!  Miss Puddleduck was playing with a millipede a few days ago and Rich Tea boy had brought an illustrated nature book to show that I was wrong to call it a centipede.  I didn’t realise it had taken up permanent residence.

Yup!  It has been “one of those sort of days”.

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About deerfeet

I am a home-educating mother of four children. We live on a small holding in Wales and my husband is active in local politics and the lead pastor of our church, Festival Church.
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