Running bear...

Time to reflect on the busiest weekend for at least a fortnight.

I could tell you all about the husband's charity golf day where he missed getting the wooden spoon (a lifelong ambition) because (wait for it) he was too good and only reached the giddy depths of third from bottom. This year, the husband had borrowed a set of proper golf clubs from our neighbour, as the Fisher Price ones had outstayed their welcome.  I did say to my neighbour that they probably wouldn't help the husband play any better, but apparently, I was wrong.

And then there was the barbecue at Miss R's on Sunday.  I had offered to drive, for no other reason that I tend to veer towards sensible, but the husband?  Well, he just went for it and when he started to sulk about losing at Swingball against a nine year old, I decided that perhaps it was time to take him home.  Oh, and he was dancing...like I needed any other reason to whisk him away.

Then we had another barbecue at the allotment with several other crazy green fingered folk on Monday.  The husband had told me that he and Mr H (he's married to an Italian lady so walks a fine line) were going to bring their motorbikes over to the allotments, with the sole reason of finding out what all the buttons did.  I fell for this for exactly seventeen minutes which is how long it look Mrs H to put me in the picture as to the true purpose of their two wheeled sojourn into the field.  'They have stumps and logs to go over', she said.  So in reality, the two of them had made themselves an obstacle course, and were simply going round in circles whooping over jumps like a couple of seven year olds.

But the highlight of my weekend was the walk in the woods with the dogs and husband on Sunday morning.  I had been telling the husband how I play the 'What Would You Do If....' game when walking alone.  Questions I ask myself could involve anything from finding a bag of money to meeting someone famous, or, when I start dragging the bottom of the imagination bottle, what I'd do if I met a bear in the words.  After some serious conversation with the husband as to options, we finally settled on finding a tree which would hold me, but not the bear, and hope that it would get bored and bu**er off.  

And then the husband got silly.  'You could always punch it on the nose', he suggested, 'but you'd have to ask it to stand really still because you wouldn't have your glasses on'.  And then he started giggling to himself.  After announcing (twice) that it was 'nothing', I finally got out of him the reason for his giggles.

'I'm going to dress up as a bear one day, and hide round the corner when you're walking through the wood.  I'd love to see the look on your face', he chortled.

Well, my love, there would be no chance of you seeing my face, nor of remembering what it looked like, because your nose, and anything else I could reach in your fuzzy bear costume, would have had seven bells worth of hell beaten out of it.

Now that would be funny...