I had an interesting walk with the furballs yesterday morning after Thursday night's 'blizzard'. Suitably attired in enough clothing to make bending at the knee almost impossible, I headed out just as it was becoming light. Now I need you use your imagination here a bit. To get to the field where I walk the boys in the morning, I need to walk across the lawn, over the wasteland where once my hedge grew, over the road and into the field. The first two bits were fine, a little bit brittle underfoot, but nothing too worrying.
However...it was the road which caused me the most trouble. I tend to keep the dogs on their lead until I get to the field, as even with their collar torches (terribly middle class aren't we) I worry about the early birds leaving for work in their cars. As we got to the road, the two dogs, so excited to be out in the snow, dragged me across the road. My wellies, not the grippiest of footwear gave up at the first bit of ice, and I traversed across the road in the style of Jayne Torvill, humming the Bolero under my breath as I headed towards the grass at some speed. But we made it there and back without too much agro, with me sticking to the grass where I could.
So yesterday at Binland, I was allowed to go and see a client who I have been chatting to for some time. Master P had to take me in his car, and after a very successful hour with my head in various wheelie bins, we headed back to the office. I made Master P stop in Henley on the way home to get milk for the office, as we'd run out (I don't function well without a mug of tea every hour or so).
With milk bought, as I left Sainsburys, the automatic door remained closed as I stepped towards it. 'Oh, the door's not working', I said to the child on the till, at which point, an older man walked towards me fiddling with a set of keys.
'Step off the mat please madam', he droned.
'Now step on the mat please madam'.
'Step off the mat again please madam'.
Nothing. He then started fiddling around with the keys.
There was now a queue forming on the other side of the glass of people wanting to come in, and I asked the key-wielder whether we were having a lock-in. He looked at me rather oddly, and said that he had no idea what I was talking about, and would I please 'step away from the mat'. He was obviously younger than I thought, and I had edged forward a little too far it would seem as his tone was far from polite and he said the words very slowly.
This went on for another ten minutes of me doing a shortened solo version of the Hokey Cokey, when a younger man pushed his way to the front of the queue on the other side of the door. Taking the door in both hands, he prised it open with brute force releasing me back into the wild again.
Getting back to the car with the milk and three coffees bought from the café opposite, Master P didn't raise the question as to where the hell I'd been for fifteen minutes.
He's polite like that...