Hello strangers. It’s been a
while. Turns out my baby-addled brain can’t quite cope with having to apply
itself at work all week and then find the capacity to switch itself back into
blog mode. That and the fact that I have been spending every spare moment squelching
my way up muddy hills or dangling with legs and arms flailing about like a very
mal-coordinated chimp on the monkey bars in our kids’ play area in an attempt
to prepare for the X Runner race this weekend. I’m not sure I’m any fitter but
my arms and shoulders have ached so much these past couple of months that non-essential
typing duties have been somewhat put to one side.
Anyway, the good news is that I
survived, despite waking up on the morning of the race to a complete white out.
Snow everywhere and sub-zero temperatures. Just what you want to see when you
are faced with the prospect of launching yourself into deep open water down a
slide from a great height. I swear to god I have never been so cold in all my
life. And as for the mud….. Well, I thought living here I was a pro when it
came to all things mud. Turns out I had barely touched the surface with my
slightly mucky ankles and spots of dirt on my running tights after my training
runs at home. We were WAIST DEEP in thick, sticky mud, much like those
documentaries you see of intrepid explorers braving the Amazon jungle. Except
it was only 4c. And hailing. Oh and did I mention that we were completely
soaked to the skin after an open water swim in our running kit? Bonkers.
Utterly bonkers. But I haven’t had such good fun in a long time. And if nothing
else, wandering around the place today after a week of rain, it seems
positively pristine and desert-like in comparison.
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| Bit nippy after an open water swim (dodging icebergs) |
So what have we been up to these
past couple of months I hear you ask? Well, to quote a comic source far greater
than myself, we have been mostly planting or chopping down hedges and trees. We
spent Easter weekend in the driving rain planting 250 native species hedging
plants (Hazel, Hawthorn, Blackthorn, Field Maple, Dog Rose and Bird Cherry in
case you’re interested) down one side of the garden. We spent most of the rest
of the month chopping down about 250 non-native conifers and hedging plants on
the other side. The irony of one cancelling the other out has not been lost on
us but alas you can’t easily transplant a hedge, more’s the pity. The result is
that we have lovely open views out to the west now and have enjoyed some beautiful
sunsets (and the odd cheeky sundowner beer – didn’t take the training that
seriously as you can probably tell) albeit wrapped up in three blankets against
the cold wind. We also have the world’s biggest supply of wood chip from
endless evenings of chipping the branches. My dear husband was out there night
after night, ramming the stuff into the jaws of the chipper until he finally
lost his shit and started a ruddy great bonfire one night on the drive. We had
to phone the neighbours to let them know that our house was not in fact on fire
and to hold off calling the local fire brigade. Such are the neighbourly codes
of practice around here!
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| Timberrrrrrr! |
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| Baby hedge |
One thing is now for sure though,
we will not want for firewood next winter. Our wood stores are once again full
to the gunnels after many days dedicated to chopping and OCD stacking. It seems
that a man’s love for his chainsaw hath no end. It’s also nice to think that we
have (hopefully) managed to stash our winter store without having to buy
anything in, even if our haul does happen to be made up of non-native species.
Is this the timber equivalent of an off-shore fund do you reckon? I’m sure Mr
Cameron would turn a blind eye to our little seasoning nest egg of foreign winter
warmth wouldn't he...
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| Wood stock |
Speaking of hedging our bets
(ahem), we also had a little flutter on the Grand National last weekend. Despite
spreading the probabilities and betting each way on five horses we still
somehow managed to lose about forty quid. Then again, allowing your one year
old daughter to go crazy on the Racing Post with a felt tip pen and then having
your dog place his paw on his favourite horse (a la Paul the octopus at the 2010
World Cup) are perhaps not the soundest ways to make an informed choice of
steed. Perhaps we should stick to stockpiling wood as a safer form of
investment from now on!
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| How the west was won |
