Well, well, well.
Yesterday I was going to write a really wonderful post about (drum rolls, please)
the county of Hampshire.
My home county and new-old home, Jane Austen's home county, the county in which Arthur Conan Doyle wrote the first Sherlock Holmes story (A Study in Scarlet), where Keats wrote The Eve of St Agnes ("Ah, bitter chill it was!") and was inspired to write the ode To Autumn (you know, "seasons of mist" etc., etc...), and the place where the Burberry mac was first invented.
I hope you like the way that I put myself at the front of that list.
Nothing quite like having ideas above one's station or anything.
Where was I?
Oh yes, "the post that never happened" (I've had quite a few of those).
my application got rejected
It's becoming quite my thing NOT getting a job.
Er, then I pulled myself together and decided to count my blessings and go and ride my horse
(yes, you're well within your rights to withhold sympathy).
Imagine my horror when I discovered that her leg was covered from the stifle joint to the hoof in dried blood and wet, oozing blood.
And quite a bit of gore.
|Just in case you wanted to brush up your knowledge of equine anatomy.|
Not for the fainthearted.
So by that time I felt I had licence to feel exceedingly sad.
Which I did.
I cheered up after a quick (actually, very long) visit from the vet
at after-hours call-out rates, naturally
and the sight of Poll tucking into her hay, trussed up in another neon pink bandage.
Please note that in the picture below she only has 1 bandage, whereas in the picture above she has 2.
That's how bloody and mucky her legs were (even after hosing) - we thought that there had to be 2 injuries because so much blood couldn't have come from just one cut.
(Cue major embarrassment when the vet investigated further and told us that we'd mistaken dislodged blood clots for open wounds. My bad).
|A starving horse, very grumpy to've had her supper delayed by the inconvenient visit from the vet.|
When I checked on her first thing this morning the bandage was wrinkled 'round her pastern (sort of like the ankle but not) like Nora Batty's stockings, which rather spoiled the effect, but her leg was a lot better and had stopped bleeding.
|Nora Batty (RIP), complete with wrinkled stockings.|
P had a similar look on her face this morning when she discovered she was not allowed out in the field for today.
So basically, this post is an extremely long-winded way of saying...
I haven't really got anything to say.
Or maybe Friday.