Not Such a Perfect Day

What I've been thinking about this week:

• Teamwork

Ivie and I are pretty similar in a lot of ways. We're both a bit lazy about housework, neither of us is bad cop when it comes to puppy training and we find each other hilarious (thankfully). 

Who's in charge here? I'll give you one guess....

I can't imagine being with someone that a. I don't find hilarious and b. Doesn't find me hilarious (as in funny haha, not funny peculiar). Laughing every day makes my world go round. 

World events sometimes make it hard to find something to laugh at but our little world usually provides good comedy fodder. The punchlines often involve shite and are delivered during meal times but I'm getting used to adapting my description of a dirty joke. 

Of course, there are lots of ways we differ, too, such as our tolerance to cow shite on our clothes, skin and soft furnishings, as well as our ability to reverse large piece of machinery in small spaces (I don't need to try to know that I would cause thousands of pounds worth of damage).

These similarities and differences do mean that we make a pretty good team, though. 

Yesterday's team task in glorious sunshine involved me holding the dog and proffering treats and encouragement while Ivie clipped her fur. It's not quite up to Crufts standard but it's better than it was. 

Gratuitous puppy pic

Today's weather has taken a turn for the worse and it feels more like February than the end of June. The wind is howling and the rain is coming down in sheets, making it Ivie's least favourite kind of day. Why's that, I hear you ask. Well, because it's the perfect day for doing bills. 

Here's how much Ivie enjoys it. 

11.08am   We start doing the first bill. 

11:16am   Ivie: Is it time for a break yet? 
                 Me: We've been doing this for 8 minutes.
                 Ivie (with petted lip): It feels like 8 hours. 

Not Ivie's Happy Place

So, the kitchen is a bit of a tip and the dog is running rings round us but at least the money will come in and we'll still be laughing at our own jokes. 

Bye, Bye Birdy

What I've been thinking about this week:

1. Bravery
2. Lack thereof

I’m not a naturally brave person. In fact, I’d say I’m a naturally feardy person. My idea of taking part in an extreme sport is playing Scrabble outside. It’s hardly adrenaline racing stuff.

Extreme Sport

This week I’ve had to put my big girl pants on a couple of times (to be fair, post-lockdown all my pants are for big girls but you catch my drift).

I’ve been lucky to have a few days off here and there over the last couple of weeks. And there’s nothing I like more than to spend them in my shed reading or writing.

View from the shed

Last Tuesday I took my laptop, the book I was reading and a cuppa to the shed and made myself comfortable. This mainly involved lighting a candle, switching on the fairy lights and settling in under a cosy blanket (all permitted under the heading of ‘I am 48’).

I’d just opened my book (Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason, highly recommended) when there was a fluttering from the wood burner. I ignored it and carried on reading. There was another, louder flutter.

At this point I should mention that I’m not very good with fluttery birds. I have no problem with creepy crawlies and quite happily ignore spiders around the house, letting them get on with whatever it is they do all day after they’ve made the web and had breakfast.

Living with Ivie has made me even less good with fluttery birds. I’ve become too keen to play the damsel in distress card and let him deal with them when they turn up in the stove in the house, tap-tapping on the glass asking politely to be released from captivity.

But last Tuesday Ivie was at silage at the top of the farm. Being at silage means he does not like being interrupted or any suggestion that he should do anything except continue to be at silage until he’s finished.

Another boring view? I couldn't possibly comment.

Let me give you an example. Last Wednesday I took the dog out for her mid-afternoon pee in between meetings. We strolled up to the steading where I could hear an almighty racket coming from the pen inside the shed. The sun streaming in meant I could only see the silhouette of a young bull battering the gate but that was enough to send me walking briskly back to the house and phoning Ivie.

The conversation went something like this.

Me: But what if it gets out?
Ivie: Go and shut the gates to stop them getting up the hill and then shut the ones near the house. It’ll be fine.
Me: But what if it’s already out when I go back up to shut the gate?
Ivie: Just keep out its way.
Me: I’m too scared.
Ivie: Well, I can’t come down. I’m up the top. Phone Kerr. He’s in the bottom field.
Me: But he might come and it’ll have stopped and he’ll think I’m stupid.
Ivie: Well phone Jane.
Me: OK.

Thankfully Jane was much more sympathetic, told me to shut the gates near the house and keep away from the bull which she described as a ‘lot of beast’. Crisis – and need for bravery – averted.

Back to the birds.

I gave myself a pep talk, reminding myself that I once removed a mouse from my bath that my cat had kindly gifted me just before a friend came to visit in Auchencairn, not to mention that I once moved 100 miles with no job and no plan - and that’s working out quite well so far.

So, I put up the hood of my hoodie, donned my fire gloves and opened the double doors of the shed (I’m quite glad everyone else at The Spittal was busy and couldn’t see my very attractive get-up).

PPE

I tip-toed towards the burner, opened the door then legged it outside as fast as I could. Not one but two starlings cheeped loudly, flew to the windowsill, cheeped again and flew past me, no doubt off to tell their pals about the wild adventure they’d just had.

Thank goodness that’s over (or words to that effect), I thought to myself.

And obviously I’ve just had to stop writing this to go and release another starling from my burner. Word’s obviously getting round about the middle-aged woman with the fire gloves and now they all want a look at the eejit.