I am here today by the skin of my teeth. I have just about killed myself regarding that bloody, must-have shed! But I’ll back-pedal slightly to Saturday morning.
I woke with the start of a migraine. These sodding things are becoming more and more frequent. No longer happy with destroying my life every fortnight, for two days at a time, they are now arriving every weekend. Not only do they imitate a bread-knife sticking through my left eye-socket, they also stop my digestive system, make me feel like vomiting and send my head mental. And no that isn’t an excuse for my impended insanity – it’s a fact, so, if anyone reading this has any up-to-the-minute facts on this migraine enigma I would be really happy to know. Moving on …
Richard arrived on the planet around ten-thirty, not having got home from work till two Saturday morning. With migraine approaching, I was keen to get on with the shed project. He mumbled on about picking up a paper and taking it to McDonald’s and having a coffee and choosing a Grand National runner. I wasn’t too keen because I knew the speed at which the migraine would be taking over but, as Richard rarely comes up with a plan of any kind, I agreed. I sat reading through the runners and riders whilst Richard fetched the drinks (and a burger thing with plastic-looking cheese for himself) Fifteen minutes later he appeared and spat, ‘I thought this was FAST food?’ I said, ‘Nah, that’s just the speed which it leaves the body.’ Migraine never improves my sarcasm!
We chose our horses and trotted off to the bookies. Richard had his usual yearly witter about how to write out the betting slip etc. As if I’m much wiser. You’d think I lived in the bookies and not visited once a year.
The plan with the shed was to call on a neighbour to help transport it up the garden. No neighbours available. Yep you guessed it – Richard and I moved it – round the chuck shed, over the rockery, round the back of the pond, across the lawn and up the garden.
I’m now cutting a long story short and adding the finale.
Richard is crippled. His shoulder, which he has been on anti-inflammatory tabs for, for the past month. is wrecked. My migraine galloped on causing me to almost die under the back shed-panel. Richards horses – all long shots – came nowhere. My horse came third, which was pretty good considering. Last year I had the first and second – so third keeps some kind of pattern I guess? And the greatest thrill of all was no horses were fatally injured.
Having owned and adored horses almost all of my life I can’t help but divulge into tears when a horse dies. I know there are so many arguments for and against horse racing. I owned a little filly some years ago but she only ever raced on the flat. I would never have been able to own a jump-horse. Never. In defence of racing I will say that the majority of racehorses love racing – if they don’t they don’t make the grade and are sold on as hacks etc. And anyone who has ever attempted to make a horse jump a fence when it didn’t want to jump a fence will know that it is impossible. If half-a-ton of horse-flesh doesn’t want to leap into the air, trust me, it won’t! Get on a horse. Try it. And if these horses die racing I guess they die doing something they love. How many of us can say that? Many humans die without dignity, lying in their own filth in some care home or hospital bed. Where am I going with this? Stop!
… After all the lifting, holding, retrieving Chea from trees, we crawled back into the house on Sunday evening and spent thirty minutes comparing aches and pains. Later Sunday night I bent down to pick up Chea’s dish and my lower back went! Obviously I had taken some obscure muscle by surprise?
Richard spent yesterday morning in bed, barely able to move and then went to the doctors in the afternoon. He didn’t want to go. He would much rather moan on to me about it all. I told him bluntly – ‘get an appointment or I’ll be driving you to the doctor and going in with you – like your mother!’
I’ve taken so many painkillers for the migraine that they have, to a certain extent, helped my broken back. Frankly I’m thinking it may have been better to die under the shed foundations because when I go to my Chiro lady, Archna, on Friday and she sees the state that I am in she’s going to go ballistic and will probably delete me from her client list.
But hey-ho there you go. What doesn’t destroy you makes you stronger. And yesterday I planted the tiny cosmos seeds in my newly cleared-out greenhouse. Chea adores the whole new outdoor experience. She found the clump of newly emerging cat mint and became delirious. Purring, rolling, rubbing, glassy-eyed and rather euphoric A stoned cat no less. She was out with us for almost nine hours on Saturday and within five minutes of getting back into the house had curled up in front of the fire and missed all the riveting Saturday night TV! Yes, I jest!
Today I need to attempt a bit more – move a muck heap and level the ground. The painkillers have kicked in. The disgusting spray thing that I sprayed all over my bum and lower back is helping. Bit tricky for a second as the over-spill ran down between the old cheeks and … well, probably best not to go there?
You see, I would rest, but isn’t that what they advised in ‘the old days?’ Don’t they now advise you to keep moving? Whatever. You’re a long time dead, hey? And like the brave, heroic Grand National runners, if it should come to it, I would rather die doing something I love …
Take care my lovelies x