Meself, himself and the gal pals have been zoo-keeping all week long. That is, we’ve been looking after the menagerie at Parental HQ while they’re away. It’s been an interesting few days, not least the morning I made up for my absence at the Glastonbury festival (any Glastonbury).
I’ve never been. Boohoo.
But I got the feel for it two days ago. There I was all kitted out, striding along in me anorak, like dear oul *Bertie himself, admiring how the rain was able to find the energy to be so heavy for so many hours – life in Sligo – when …
… well, nothing really. There’s not much to say: one moment I was picking my way carefully through the swamp and the next I was a heaving, giggling mess on the flat of my back, hair sticky with muck and two dogs staring down quizzically at me while the others tried to mug me for the biscuits in my pocket – feckin’ mercenaries.
Yes, I fell.
Well, that’s not true, I slithered swiftly and ungainly into a fence post actually.
No it’s okay, I’m fine.
The arse of my jeans looked a sight of course, like I’d had a bathroom-related emergency. Too many Easter Eggs or a particularly firey Vindaloo. Shudder.
Hmm, there’s a thought. Maybe I should invest in those adult nappies for the next time: I can just whip’em off when I get back in (no scraping soil off me clothes), they’d provide a cushion to land on and they’d probably add an extra layer of heat.
*our former Taoiseach who I’ll say nothing about. As my grandma used to say: If you’ve nothing good to say, don’t say anything at all