I knew I wasn't going to get through this week without hurting myself. The first sign was a couple of days ago when for the first time in my life I managed to set fire to the frying pan, I was cooking some mushrooms, not flambe unfortunately. Was it luck or stupidity that the cooker is near enough the back door for me to pick up the flaming pan and throw it unceremoniously into the garden. Bet that frightened the local birds who are more used to offerings of crumbs than that. I am well aware of what you are supposed to do in those situations however knowledge is nothing when faced with flames, thinking was not an option!
After that little fiasco, which has left me without a frying pan, not such a bad thing after all, I went through a succession of little accidents. None of which caused much more than an annoyance at my resemblance to Norman Wisdom at times. Elegant I ain't.
Until today. When I decided to enjoy the sunshine of an October day with a trip to the local country park, Muiravonside. Now at this park, lining the river Avon (you would never have guessed that, hmm?) is what the Hobbits call the "Troll Bridge." A little wooden bridge leading over a stream that feeds into the larger river. After visiting the farm, Hobbits delighting in the fact that every time we go the huge Tamworth pigs are always sleeping and snoring, we took a walk down to the Troll Bridge.
Once safely across, no trolls having shown their faces, we decided to continue the walk so the Hobbits could try out their wellies in the river. Only it turns out that a little boy had stood on a wasps nests. Picture three adults, four children aged between 3ish and 9ish and one small Spaniel dog running and flapping as the wasps enjoyed a stinging frenzy. Poor youngest Hobbit came off worse of our family, although it was more the thought that was terrifying him, wasps clung to his clothes. Eldest Hobbit wasn't stung once. Something he proceeded to tell everyone he met on the rest of the walk and at the play park we eventually ended up in.
While picking them off youngest Hobbits clothes I felt a pain on my calf, looked down and sure enough one of the little f***ers was stinging away.
Of the other family only the little boy (the one who was about 3ish) wasn't stung, and he was the one who had started it off in the first place! He looked fairly bemused at his parents hopping around picking wasps off his elder brother and sister and their dog who seemed to be the wasps' favourite.
The rest of the day went well though. But my leg is agony, little bugger packed a decent sting.
After that little fiasco, which has left me without a frying pan, not such a bad thing after all, I went through a succession of little accidents. None of which caused much more than an annoyance at my resemblance to Norman Wisdom at times. Elegant I ain't.
Until today. When I decided to enjoy the sunshine of an October day with a trip to the local country park, Muiravonside. Now at this park, lining the river Avon (you would never have guessed that, hmm?) is what the Hobbits call the "Troll Bridge." A little wooden bridge leading over a stream that feeds into the larger river. After visiting the farm, Hobbits delighting in the fact that every time we go the huge Tamworth pigs are always sleeping and snoring, we took a walk down to the Troll Bridge.
Once safely across, no trolls having shown their faces, we decided to continue the walk so the Hobbits could try out their wellies in the river. Only it turns out that a little boy had stood on a wasps nests. Picture three adults, four children aged between 3ish and 9ish and one small Spaniel dog running and flapping as the wasps enjoyed a stinging frenzy. Poor youngest Hobbit came off worse of our family, although it was more the thought that was terrifying him, wasps clung to his clothes. Eldest Hobbit wasn't stung once. Something he proceeded to tell everyone he met on the rest of the walk and at the play park we eventually ended up in.
While picking them off youngest Hobbits clothes I felt a pain on my calf, looked down and sure enough one of the little f***ers was stinging away.
Of the other family only the little boy (the one who was about 3ish) wasn't stung, and he was the one who had started it off in the first place! He looked fairly bemused at his parents hopping around picking wasps off his elder brother and sister and their dog who seemed to be the wasps' favourite.
The rest of the day went well though. But my leg is agony, little bugger packed a decent sting.
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