I managed to have an awful lot go wrong with various parts of my anatomy in January.
On the fourth, my birthday, one of the type which signals that more bits are likely to drop off at any moment – nothing of any note occurred ie: nothing actually fell off.
There was snow
and then there was no snow and great deal of rain.
To be perfectly honest, its all a tad hazy, I ended up taking painkillers of the kind that relax memory function, so January drifted along, containing things lovely (more of that sort ) and nasty ( less but really not much fun).
I do remember New Year’s Day.
I wished to post a letter whilst giving my dog a walk on the first day of the year.
I had a bag over my shoulder, it continually slid down my arm. I had an umbrella, which was unsure which it preferred : inside out or right way round, so it tried both, a lot.. I had a very bad leg.
I had my nice big dog who found enticing smells, several feet away, even in a rainstorm. I had a retractable lead that kept retracting my scarf rather than the lead….. and a nice warm pair of gloves ,which I had to keep in my pocket because I couldn’t use my hands and wear them at the same time
As if all this was not daft enough, in the mud, the wind and the rain, I had elected to wear smooth soled shoes.
I did not care about that particular pair of shoes getting wet: one of the only two parts of this venture outdoors, in dreadful weather, which I thought about properly and it was the wrong decision. The only intelligent activity was to wear contact lenses, so that my glasses would not get all rainy. That was the single good decision I made about this epic trip to the post box.
The field outside the house was deeply carved up by a farmer’s tractor and contained massive puddles, any indentations in the land were brimming with water, the footpath was a running river, so I was walking on the field, which I had imagined would not be so bad as there was long grass.
No, it was a swamp with long, loopy bits on which to trip.
Leaving the field and its sodden dangers without having fallen, I began to walk on the road through the allotments – more of same but very stony and slippery, plus chicken and rabbit distractions for Cu Sha.
Then on down the small, privately owned, road with its spectacular pot holes hidden in the single vast lake, which it had become.
I teetered along the side of said lake, Cu Sha stepping carefully behind me until we reached the astonishing sanity of the main road.
Its only a little main road and it also has potholes, not big enough to hide a cow, like the ones on the private road, however, a small child would disappear quite easily
… as I have driven along it, almost every day, I have never regarded it as a haven of peace… but there it was, I could even see the pavement and we walked along that, carefully, to the postbox, which is one of those little old, rusting ones, buried in a thorn hedge, on a pole.
The postbox was the point of my undoing.
All I had to do was get the letter out of the bag, retract the dog lead, short enough to keep him off the road and keep my umbrella’s spokes out of my eyes, whilst pushing the letter into the hole in the box.
None of these objectives actually took place in the way I had envisaged.
The storm suddenly decided to kill me, blowing wildly with heavy rain, I dropped my bag, got the lead round my legs and damn near lost the umbrella.
I did get the letter through the slot.
So I offer a picture of snowy Cu Sha glowering through the glass on the French windows,
he is saying ” oi! you lot, I have done that which you put me out to do. Now, LET ME IN “