we must be nuts...

Over the course of a long wet winter and throughout my recovery period New Man and I have been looking forward to all the good things we were going to do over the summer. We're both outdoors types and love hill walking, sailing (he has a boat and I used to sail in the SF era) and camping.

I've been cautious about this. I've recovered fine from the op but I've also been anxious not to do too much too soon.  

I pushed this boundary a bit a fortnight ago when we went up Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh. I managed to get to the top OK and I foolishly thought that my days of being an invalid were over. Until on the way down I slipped and sat down HARD. On solid rock. I waddled painfully to the car, took a couple of painkillers, made sure that my throbbing rump was sat on a cushion, and then went to bed when we got back.

"I don't know why you're in so much pain" New Man said, "after all you fell on a bit that's well padded."

For some reason we're still speaking!

Two weeks later I'm still a bit sore. I didn't go to the docs - I mean, what could he do? Nothings broken and it isn't as if you could bandage it.

But tonight we're off for the first camping trip of the season. The Ka (yes, I've still got it BHM) is packed, and I'm awaiting the call to say that he's on his way before I head off to Loch Lomondside from sunny (?) Argyll. The Hound knows something is up. He's seen the tent go into the Ka and every time I move he thinks that's an excuse to go rushing down the stairs.

This should be an interesting weekend. It will be our first camping trip together. But the weather's set to deteoriate this evening and is set to pee down all day tomorrow.

The thought of snuggling up in a tent with him listening to the rain hammering down outside is one thing. But we're going to be in the company of four dogs plus his pain-in-the-butt teenage daughter who "hates camping" and will probably moan all weekend.

This one is a recipe for disaster.
25.4.08 16:12
 


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