A good day, but no prizes.

Once I’d broken the hangover barrier (3 glasses of wine, one tequila, vomiting in the loo, feel I should know better by now), with over the counter drugs and a cup of coffee, we all ventured to the park on an almost-wintry sunny day with buckets and spades. Flo planted a garden of sticks in the sand pit, Theo buried his spade accidentally and had to search for it – genuine discovery of orange plastic treasure for once. The lentil and butternut squash soup was a no-no when the pull out larder proved to be devoid of lentils, to the joy of the kids who in their nutritional omniscience think that Heinz Cream of Tomato is much better than anything mummy makes. Pah.
No actual horsing around this weekend, now that the new skintness has taken hold I have to get my kicks by signing up for Horse and Hound email updates. Am hoping against hope that I won’t actually have to cancel my sub to the magazine, but just looking at the “Horses for Sale” pages gives me all sorts of unfinanceable urges so it may have to go. In the meantime, I’ll look into joining the new gym near work and try to stay in shape so that when I do finally heave my backside saddlewards it won’t be utterly flabby, not to mention those all important postural muscles wasting into decrepitude.
So, as I said, here I am in a draught with chilly feet while next door the coal fire is burning – carbon footprint anyone? – so perhaps now is the time to save and publish. The first blog is the hardest.


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