Author: comfortablymum6

Having booked a bonus and unplanned getaway in a couple of weeks, have lost all focus and motivation for day to day trivia and work and have an irresistible urge to pack my floaty summer clothes immediately and camp at the airport, consuming chilled rose and waiting for my flight to depart.

According to Noël Coward: A perfect martini should be made by filling a glass with gin, then waving it in the general direction of Italy.

One rebellious and conniving hen eschews the cosy hen house and despite wing clipping, breaks out of the run to sneak off somewhere in the garden to lay her eggs.
Many days of frustratingly fruitless searching.
Keep on coming across frolicsome cocker, who has found the nest, and is carefully and gently transporting purloined eggs off one by one into various other parts of the shrubbery and burying them.
Unable to catch her and therefore can’t find those either.
Hen disappears for a couple of evenings to sit on nest as now broody, reappearing at daybreak, scratching around the hen run nonchalantly, having flapped over the fence, waiting for the other girls to be let out.
Stealthy sneaking around the garden in my nightie and wellies trying to catch out one or other of these miscreants but instead alarming the neighbour, who is passing my gate and sees me crouching behind a bush at dusk.
Eventually “Helpful” big stupid spaniel finds hen roosting one evening and proudly presents her to me as a bedraggled, warm and lifeless bag of feathers.
Cocker looks smug and refuses to reveal her treasure trove.
Springer looks disappointed that I’m not delighted in his retrieving skills.
Not quite a win win situation.

sigh

First day out in a sea kayak this year.
A bit of chop, beautiful skies, cormorants nesting on the cliffs, a hawk attempting to pick off the chicks but being deflected by the furious parents, warm sunshine and a refreshing swim at the end in crystal clear Moray Firth waters.
That’ll do.

What is it about effective dishwasher loading?
There are those that can and those that don’t give a shit.
And there’s the answer.
How is it even possible for EVERY plate to be put in at a difference angle reducing the capacity to about 5 items?
Tempted to unload the entire dirty contents into the beds of the offenders….
🤬

Hey ho. Have one car, one robotic lawnmower and two loo cisterns kaput.
‘im outdoors?
Outdoors, of course on a west coast walking week.
Natch.

A day of rain and some small garden achievements.
As the evening arrived, the sky cleared and I took the opportunity to take the dogs on a bonus walk.
The ailing car, still flashing alarming engine related warnings, is now driving about as well as my first mini did when it was only firing on three cylinders (and that day, incidentally, I had to go to two weddings, one in the morning in Bath and another in the afternoon in Weybridge – Harriet Walsh a very enjoyable one too – driven in a loop from North London, annoying every other driver on the road).
Today I only had to drive a quarter of a mile to the start of the Viaduct walk but managed to kangaroo hop the entire way, revving the engine madly to actually get some forward motion.
Calmed my nerves as I sauntered along over the bridge, watching a pair of swans with a sole fluffy grey cygnet, gliding gracefully under me.
On the other side, I stepped off the path to allow a frail looking couple to pass me and slipped on the wet grass, pitching myself forward and forcibly bending my crappy knee, causing me to swear, roll over and tumble down the bank onto my arse.
The lovely old pair were very concerned and apologised profusely saying they felt terrible that they couldn’t bend down to help me otherwise they’d probably join me on the floor and never get back up again.
I waved them on smiling through gritted teeth as I gingerly straightened my leg, causing me to nearly throw up with pain.
I sat on the wet grass for at least 10 minutes before I could get up again, by which time my left ear had been given a comprehensive washing courtesy of the lab pup attempting to make me feel better.
Hobbled soggily back to the car and lurched home again for a beverage and late supper.

‘im outdoors collects a large and cumbersome, all singing, all dancing cross trainer – a freebie from a friend whose Achilles’ tendon has fallen out with it in a big way.
Family congregate to haul it out of the trailer and into our shed.
Proceed to reassemble it with lots of bad words, orders and mansplaining whilst we attempt not to lose our fingers between the stealthily moving parts.
Two vital bits won’t go where they should, due to being slightly and frustratingly misaligned.
Lots of faffing around with hammers, pliers, a clamp and everyone pulling and straining like medical students assisting with the retractors during gallbladder surgery.
In time, he gets bored, downs tools to have a beer and goes to bed, muttering about warped bars and which of his engineer friends he will invite round to finish the job.
After supper I go back, sit looking at it quietly for a bit without anyone interfering, move the offending parts around a little and work out the mechanics of the problem.
Summon senior daughter for a bit of tactical realignment as I hammer home the bolts and tighten the nuts and step back feeling just a tad smugger than Smuggy McSmugface from Smugsville.

Just got home from an overnight round trip to move senior daughter out of her uni house at the end of another era for her.
An odd, lockdown end with everyone dispersed many weeks ago and graduation delayed till December.
As we approached the Toon, the car did its well worn trick of throwing up a hysterical advisory warning “Engine malfunction!” Aka “Let’s give the driver the immediate feeling that the whole thing is about to blow up for some enigmatic reason” -who thinks these messages up?
The RAC do as much as they can with the diagnostics and “fix” the malfunction but can’t get rid of the error message so the journey home, laden with her entire worldly possessions, is conducted in “Limp home” mode…..ie no acceleration and ascent of hills at the speed of Mr Bean in his purloined scooter.
Leave sad senior daughter unpacking at home, missing her independent existence and uni life and take the dogs to the beach in the slow mobile.
Another chapter begins as junior daughter will be heading off to Vet school in 3 weeks as the campus opens up post lockdown.

COVID 19 Diary

Lockdown has prompted some hard core cupboard sorting.
About 2 weeks ago I unearthed a pot of gorgeous smelling body butter which was gifted to me, had been “parked” for future use and consequently forgotten.
It smells amazing, and I have been liberally applying it daily.
My sking is soft, fragrant and glowing.
Literally….glowing.
About to head off to work and just caught a flash of something on my hands in the oblique shafts of my bedroom light.
Glitter.
Yup.
I’ve been basically sparkling my way through life in front of my colleagues and patients.
😶