Friday, 27 January 2017

Walking on a dream...

Poor old Percy, the older of the two fuzzballs is feeling rather sorry for himself.  He had to have a claw removed yesterday, and I'm not saying that the vet over-bandaged his paw, but his leg looks like a tent mallet and is causing him to list slightly to the left as he walks.  Even funnier, is that Reg, the younger fuzzball who can count the Tasmanian Devil amongst his relatives, has taken to limping too, and runs away if we try to touch his paw.  This is sibling rivalry at its worst, and is providing daughter number one and son number two with much entertainment. 

Unfortunately, Percy's injury means that I have had to cancel my walk with Schnauzerfest on Sunday.  This charity need lots of extra donations at the moment to pay for some difficult treatment for two new arrivals who have had a hell of a life up to now.  All the money raised on Sunday will go to help these two in their first steps toward a life without fear, pain or suffering.  If you have anything to spare, here is the link...

http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/fundraiser-web/fundraiser/showFundraiserProfilePage.action?userUrl=Schnauzerfest2017&isTeam=true)

I shall really miss the walk this year.  Who doesn't enjoy scanning the beach of almost a hundred mini schnauzers looking for the one which belongs to you, finally realising that he has run off with another fella (Hugo, I hope your owner is reading this) and having quality time in the sand dunes.  I'm sure Percy will miss rekindling that romance just as much as I will miss seeing my lovely friends Mrs K, Mrs I and Mrs H....

Back to vague normality though, with the first swim of the year (of the decade if I'm honest, but who's counting) under my elasticated belt.  I am doing this with the lovely Mrs S from Binland who can be very forceful I've realised.  The aim was to do as many lengths as possible, interspersed with some chatting.  Unfortunately, we didn't allow for the wave machine which goes off every half an hour or so.  I thought it would be a gentle swell, but the resulting tsunami left me hanging on the lane dividing rope for all I was worth. 

This got me told off by the small child with the big whistle round his neck.  I also got told off for loitering in the swimming lane.  I wanted to shout out to him that at my age, after ten lengths of breast stroke, there are minor adjustments which need making.  I held my tongue though.  There's nothing worse than a 53 year old woman with a wedgie shouting the odds at a fourteen year old whose voice hasn't broken.

I might turn rebel next week and go down the water slide at full pelt  (assuming my ample hips don't get wedged half way down).  The resulting 'bomb' could save them a bit of electricity on the wave machine I reckon, and it might also mean that we could get rid of a couple of the noisier children who were in there.  Why are they still up at 7.00 for heaven's sake?  Put them to bed and let the grownups swim in peace...

So Mrs S swam like a seal, carving a beautiful line up and down the lanes.  I, on the other hand, puffed and panted up and down like an asthmatic hippo, my flailing arms and legs critically wounding at least two other swimmers in the lane next door, but in the end we managed fourteen lengths.  This was about thirteen more than I had reckoned possible, so I was quite proud of myself for a first session.  I'm not too confident about how my hair is going to look though.  This would be the hair which was scraped up into a high bun to avoid getting wet, which hadn't allowed for the six foot swell on the half hour...

And why does swimming make you so bloody hungry?  But I was strong, the thought of the scales tomorrow spurring me on to greater things...

And smaller jeans sometime in the distant future perhaps....


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