I would celebrate my 100th post, but me and Clare have been a bit unwell.
After a sustained period of feeling strong and invincible, I've come over all weak and feeble. (And now, I can't even blame commuter trains or air-conditioning.)
Needful to say, weakness and feebleness don't really go with the peasant lifestyle. Animals still need to be fed, water (or hoses) carried. Hay sourced. Electric fencing checked. Et cetera. Then there are all the usual domestic chores that go with Two Small Children.
Thank [insert deity] for Clare, with whom these things are normally shared fifty-fifty. (Yeah, right.)
However, after a spectacularly feel-good Friday, Clare ended up on the floor of the bathroom with a violent gastric something that's been doing the rounds. Having blacked out just before she got into the bathroom, she also fell over and badly bruised (or possibly broke) a finger.
Which is not something that goes with all the above and making yurt covers (which I can't help with at all).
So please excuse the lack of posts.
I could write one about the wildlife we see all the time now: huge birds of prey, woodpeckers, deer, mice. Or about our trip to Ikea in Bordeaux on Monday, where I saw more people in one place than I have for over six months. I just haven't got the energy.
I'll just sit here until the end of this sentence, then go upstairs and put the Daughter's new bed together.
3 comments:
In a bizarre case of synchronicity, I was at Croydon Ikea on Monday. . . . . .
My previous Ikea experience was in Croydon. We went, looking for an office chair. Didn't buy one. Had a puncture. Couldn't get the tyre off. Had to call for help. Screaming child. Nightmare.
Very confusing trying to work out how to use an Ikea, in French. Having never bought anything before. Great idea. Far too much "Made in China".
I went for some blackout blinds. They didn't have the ones I wanted. I consoled myself by wandering around (I bumped, literally and figuratively, into a colleague from work) and marvelling at all of the items that seemed reasonably priced at £1.25.
When I got to the checkout I realised 2 important points I always forget when entering Ikea - 1) the world and his wife are always ahead of me at the checkouts and no matter what time of day or night you visit the blue & yellow warehouse, it's always the same . . . and. . . . 2) the £1.25 thing lulls you into thinking that you are getting a bargain - but by the time you have filled that big yellow bag, you've spent £100. (I spent £102 and then a further £4.50 on cinnamon rolls and Swedish cheese in the food shop cunningly site just by the exit . . . .)
A part of me thinks that a screaming child and a flat tyre was, somehow, preferable . . . . .
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