Know what I wanna do?

Nothing.

Absolutely... Nothing. I want to lay in my bed, with no reason to get up - chooks let out, horses fed breaky and unrugged for me, puppies let out and kitties let in to my room, have my Mumma call in sick for me... And just be. 

No phones to answer, no borderline delinquent clients to deal with, no sick horse to worry about or good or bad weather to make me question if the horses are too hot or too cold or... Just... Nothing. 

Alas. Early start, customers to sort out, lady cramps to deal with, horses to feed, rug, water and worry over, chickens to release and cats to clean up after, dinner to cook and animal feed to purchase, home to rush to feed and rug and water, chickens to capture, vets to call and stressing to be done over sick horse, holiday to sulk over because I can't make decisions due to all the above. 

Ohh, to be a kid again. 

Moo

Because painting seems to calm my soul.  

Cricket Bat Cheese

I arrived at work today to a package - a package! For once, I wasn't as enthusiastic as I can be, because usually when I get a big box on my desk, it's screws/a door handle, and not in fact a delightful pair of Louboutins in a handy size 39. The joys of working in constructin. But, digging deep through the layers of cardboard and bubble wrap, I was curious... Cricket bat? Giant mouse-swat? (Not so far fetched, seeing as I pulled up into my car park and proceeded to remove a humane trap of mice from my vehicle, and set them free into next doors premises. The little buggers have worked their way through a handbag, a newspaper and various other bits and pieces in my car over the past week. War, little miceys, WAR.) But no, it is, in fact, a cheese board. And I do love me some cheese - the fact I could practically surf on this platter it's so big, may be an indication of how much everyone knows I love cheese. 

Which leads me to question that maybe that's why I have me some mice in my car... Cheese, Gromit, cheeeeeeese.

Grand and Exotic Hotels

Still suffering... so today was spent snuggled with an array of kitties, watching The Grand Budapest Hotel. Um... how have I not been made to see this earlier? I tried to watch it the last time I was on a plane, but it wouldn't load properly, so I just gave up on apparently ever watching it again - big mistake. Huge. I giggled. I snorted. I disturbed a few cats, I was so filled with mirth.

It reminded me a lot of Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events - which I'm sure had nothing to do with Jude Law narrating parts of it. Speaking of characters that you just cant shake, and of hotels; I made Cam watch The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel with me last night, and bloody Bill Nighy! No matter what I see him in, from a giant octopus in Pirates of The Caribbean, as Rufus Scrimgeour in Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows (terrible casting, if I do say so myself) to the dad in one of my all-time favorites, About Time - he is ALWAYS Billy Mack from Love Actually. Always. 

(A personal favorite moment of his from said movie)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2mVtSyRcA8

And yet it's not like I sit and only see Maggie Smith as Professor McGonagall, or Judi Dench as M. Bill Nighy just is Billy Mack. And I'm sure that's nothing to do with the fact I have watched Love Actually approximately 149 times.

This is what my life has become over the past few days. Comparing movie characters to 17 other movies I have watched over my 20 something years as I lay in my death bed, dreaming of holidaying to Aruba (mostly so I can play Kokomo on repeat in my car for hours on end) and wondering if I'm brave enough to consume solid foods yet. On that note, it might be time to log into TripAdvisor again and have a nibble on a muffin. Adios, amigos.

Easter 2015 = Bedridden, With Cats.

What better time to get a new blog up and running than when I am stuck, bored and boring, in bed - because, you know, the best laid plans go to waste.

It wasn't like I was doing anything exciting this 4 day weekend (please note the use of sarcasm) - no catching up with my family, no competing the new pony for the first time, no sneaky shopping for all new fancy bits and pieces so that even if we failed miserably, at least we would look shiny and pretty... Ok, so I actually managed that last bit pretty well before I was struck down with the dreaded lurgy. You know, I would  have preferred my husband gave me, I don't know... Easter eggs, rather than a bout of the most revolting gastro I have ever had the misfortune of experiencing. In between groaning loudly, endless vomitting and mentally writing my will and obituary, I thought that perhaps I could use this time, pinned to my bed by a selection of cats, to do a few things I've been meaning to do... such as start blogging. I miss it. I miss having witty repartee, even if it is with myself. I miss the banter, the minute detail of my mundane life typed out for all the world to see, the times I look back and have a 'Huh...I forgot about that/fuck I'm amazing/I was sooooo much thinner back then' several months later... So, here it is.

And, of course, could I think of a name? No. Did "Maybe I'll give it a few days and think of something cool...." cross my mind? Yes, yes it did. However, that's gone through my mind for the past few months, and nothin' cool came into my brain.

So, in reference to a slight accident giant pony and I had, and an affectionate nickname my mother referred to me as in the weeks following, Lumpy Head and The Hooves it is. And until I can think of a more fitting picturegraph to serve as my header background, riding a pony through the crystal clear waters of Vanuatu right before my husband proposed to me on the happiest day of my life will do. Because happiness. And I looked sooooo much thinner back then.