I’m excited. No, really excited. I think spring is definitely on its way. Yes, OK, I accept that it’s still bitterly cold and we are still having heavy frosts at night BUT …the snowdrops have bravely pushed through the hard icy ground and are standing proud on strong stems, their heads dipping in respect to the stirring of life.
The visitation will soon commence. A dozen or so frogs creeping through the fencing, their expectant little faces heading towards the fish pond, where a mating frenzy will begin. There always appears to be an uneven balance of males to females, with each female having 3 or 4 suitors. Those who can’t get the closest to the female, pile onto the back of the successful male and appear to be just as happy being a part of the gyrating tower.
And the birds have now started to sing in the mornings. They aren’t exactly up to the deafening chorus part yet but the song has well and truly started. And two robins threaten each other daily, from branches yet to bud, promising to beat the other to death in a territorial battle if it doesn’t look elsewhere for garden ownership. For such beautiful little birds, and incidentally my favourite, they sure are little monsters, fluffing-up and lowering their rapier-like beaks, ready for the attack.
Flight (grey chuck) has now replaced her tail feathers and is looking more like a living chicken and less like a table-ready chuck. Little (light Sussex) is once again proud to be seen out in the garden with her and will even give up the odd worm or grub to her, cluck-clucking until Flight rushes up and devours it. Such a ‘giving’ little creature is little Little.
AND …the veggie plot is also ready for the lengthening of days and the steady rise in temperature. Two days ago I emptied the horse muck compost bin and spread the detritus evenly and fairly across the ground and then dug it in. I am only sharing this information with you and not my new physio, Andrew (name changed) who incidentally looks too young to be out of Pampers! But then, that’s my sodding luck these days.
After the sudden onset of a very painful lower back, and when the pain was so bad that I was more than convinced that I needed an emergency hip replacement, I had no choice but to bother the doctor with it. She was extremely helpful, referring me to a local ‘Specialised’ back and neck physio thingy/person. The appointment came through faster than poo off a shovel and along I trotted.
This guy, all smiles and testosterone, jogged down the corridor and gushing said, ‘Gail?’
Gail hey? And on our first meeting. I stood (painfully) and accepted his hand expecting it to have traces of Jelly Babies or SMA sticking to it, but no …
After the initially, “do you know how it happened?” bit, to which I lied and said, “No,” (and I’m not telling you lot either!) he requested that I placed my bones on his couch. Once there, and with my head protruding through the hole thingy, came his subtle question. “Is it OK to ease down your pants?”
I closed my eyes. I’ve led a full and varied life and this is NOT a query I have come across before. Of course it wasn’t OK to ease down my pants. I’m a person of a certain age and this dear child was …well …a child. “Sure,’ I said.
I based my positive answer on the fact that I’ve given birth and had an inguinal hernia op, both of which I was conscious for, so this would be child’s play …though hopefully not literally.
My left bum muscle was massaged to within an inch of its life, with Andrew periodically asking if I was OK. There really was no answer to that. I don’t know what hurt more …my bum or my embarrassment? A bit of a photo finish me thinks?
So, back to the spreading of the horse shit. Andrew says I shouldn’t be doing much at all. My instructions are to heat-treat my bum every twenty minutes in the hour (yeah right) not to sit or stand in one position for longer than twenty minutes (yeah, double right) and to do some knee-bend exercises on the bed every morning and night. (?)
I hate exercises. Isn’t digging the garden exercising? Isn’t clearing out the garage and carrying a deep freezer and tumbler dryer up the garden exercise? Isn’t playing hide and seek in the garden with Chea and the chucks exercising?
Anyway, I’ve had 3 of these sessions now. They won’t get any better. My embarrassment level will be constant. And another thing, like most men, Andrew, takes these things for granted because, other than our first-time meeting, when he actually did the polite thing and asked if he could lower my bloomers, he now takes it for granted that he may and dives straight in. Kids hey?
Obviously, I have had to source a new hot water bottle in order to heat my bum because stupid Richard burst the other one by leaning his crappy shoulder against it and flooding out my lovely new cushion. He moaned and said that I was more concerned about the cushion than his burnt back. True.
He is still driving me mental. In fact, I think I had heart palpitations last night. I’m sure he is sending my stress levels through the roof and I’m going to die. I’m not frigging joking either and you heard it here first.
The other night he was slurping his way through one of my tangerines (he doesn’t do fruit) coughed, and spluttering said, “I’ve just swallowed a pip! Will it hurt me?”
“No,” I said.
“Are you sure?” he said
How dare he doubt me?
“I said, will it hurt me?” he repeated.
“NO IT WON’T HURT YOU,” I repeated. “Not unless it attaches to your bowel and you get an orange tree growing out of your arse!”
He laughed …and then I laughed. Such is life.