I’m going to give it all up and become a doctor!
It’s just been one of those weeks. Suddenly the island idyll is seeming less than idyllic. I’m about to catalogue a litany of disasters both great and small.
I think things started to go down hill around mid week when Allan found a dead lamb in the field….now I think about it it was probably an omen. There was a sheep hanging around and he decided to foster our pet lamb, Sally lamb onto this willing mother. A series of events subsequently unfolded where the lamb didn’t really take to the mother, my dad kept saying how weird the whole thing was and something wasn’t right until a couple of days ago Allan went down to the shed to check on them and found the proud mother had given birth to a lovely new lamb! Clearly she was not the mother of dead lamb in the field and no wonder she wasn’t that keen on the foster lamb we had tried to fob her off with. Sally lamb gleefully went back to the bottle and the dog kennel and we put the sheep out in the field. Then we noticed she was a bit off colour and appeared to have a bit of retained placenta. Then she looked really sick so we gave her some antibiotics. Then she looked really really sick so we did some investigating and found out that she not only had a retained placenta but also a retained lamb. Not nice. She is now in the shed looking pretty gubbed (to use a medical term) and Allan and my Dad are taking turns to flagellate themselves for the numerous ways in which this poor sheep was mismanaged.
Following on from all this Allan and I set off for a romantic walk round the sheep last. For reasons best known to ourselves we decided that a sheep had a stuck lamb and chased her around the croft twice. During the process of the chase I fell flat on my face (but I was up and running like a gazelle seconds later). I also managed to perform a bizarre Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon 360 degree spin whist catching her which I think dislocated my shoulder and broke several of my ribs. O.K. maybe not quite but I’m very stiff and sore this morning.
So this morning I woke up sore, sleep deprived (but that’s a given) and generally grumpy to a howling gale. This led to the realisation that our tent (also known as the guest wing) was in real danger of blowing away. It was heroically rescued by my dad and Allan. Sadly I felt their actions were less heroic when I discovered the sopping wet tent shoved into the shed with Max’s stinking dog bed on top of it.
Allan has not been in my good books this weekend as he and my Dad have spent most of their time replacing the windows in our kitchen and living room. Yes I know this is great. It will be nice not to have to mop the windowsill dry when it rains and to remove the tea towels which we had stuffed around the window frame in a vain attempt to stop the drafts but did they have to make so much mess? I often complain that when Allan cooks he uses every pan in the house and leaves the kitchen like a bomb site. Well if you extrapolate this to power tools you may have some idea of the current state of our house. At least they fixed the hole in the wall that Max made with his giant arse.
Whilst they were out doing manly things I decided to display some of my domestic goddess skills and proceeded to make homemade pizza. Sadly I forgot to add a raising agent to the dough and created something which was more like hot cheese and tomato on an oatcake than a pizza. At least Helen said it was lovely which is something as she’s not afraid to tell me when my food tastes ‘mingin’.
So here we are camping out in my parents (admittedly luxurious) house. Our house is an uninhabitable tip. We have our friends little girl to look after tomorrow morning. We have to somehow clean our house and dry out the tent (which is almost as large as the house), minister to the sick sheep in the shed, feed the pet lamb, keep an eye on the sheep on the croft and go to playgroup. Also I need to spend a lot of time this week learning how to get to grips with the shop ordering system as Mrs Shopmeister’s period of confinement draws near. Allan is going away to a stag weekend on Thursday leaving me to clean a 12 bedded holiday cottage by myself. And to top it all off it is the first week of a new semester on my on-line learning course – this means that I will be inundated with e-mails from vacuous students asking me bizarre questions and complaining that their holiday plans don’t fit in with the course timetable. Just writing this has increased my heart rate.
I guess I thought when we moved here that the horrible – rip your own skin off you’re feeling so stressed- stress would be left behind. Rather disappointing to find that this is not the case. However it makes me wonder if perhaps I am just the sort of person who would be stressed anywhere. Even if I was a Buddhist monk I would probably be unable to meditate due to worrying about my bum looking big in my robe and what the other monks thought of me. So I could give up the good life and rejoin the rat race or maybe I could just try and relax a little. Easier said than done though.