05 June 2006

Delayed Reaction

To answer Stegbeetle's question in the comments three posts down, I have no idea if my son worked out we had left for the jaunt on Saturday. Husband certainly knew, in fact as final preparations were made, his moaning from in front of his all important televised football match went from 'Can't you do that somewhere else?' to 'I thought you were going out!'

We even got back five minutes late for the start of Doctor Who.

All that stuff about doing this once a month? Pah. Sunday morning daughter decides she knows the short route to the High And Over now and wants to lead everybody there for a picnic lunch.

Fair enough - its only about 40 minutes each way if you take it at a snails pace, so I rustled up some cheese sandwiches and a bottle of diluted squash and off we set.

I should have known I was opening a can of worms when Husband enthusiastically dug out the digital camera and clipped it to his belt.

After a gentle stroll enjoying the air and the bravery/ indifference of the huge rabbit population, pretty much all on level ground, we got to the old picnic site. I say old, because there is only one bench left now and no tables, but the view over the valley and the river in both directions is absolutely breathtaking.

Fine. Sandwiches consumed and views admired, we'd been out for about an hour and the kids and I were ready to head back. Little things like school uniform laundry were calling to me in the back of my mind. Things to do.

"Why don't we go down to the river and walk up the banks to Alfriston?" says Husband, with that glaring, slightly manically enthusiastic smile that says every complaint you could possibly make will go straight over his head from here on in.

I gave it a good shot nonetheless, and complained several times en route, in fact I think I managed to polish my personal vitriol in the process. I was sniping like a true Diva before long, whilst my intended audience chuckled.

Yes, chuckled.

When he insisted the old way down the hill was still safe enough if you walk sideways (the one where half the steps have subsided and you have a dusty, chalky, crumbly slope to negotiate at approximately 1:1) and I ended up purposely inching down on my backside and telling him I hated his guts, he laughed.

When daughter went sliding and scared herself and told him she hated him too, he laughed.

When she trod on her thirtieth thistle and said it with tears in her eyes whilst I held her hand and said a lot of words under my breath, his truth radar still refused to function and he laughed.

When I told him I was fed up with him assuming every attack on his grand ideas was not genuine, nor based in reason, but simply feminine girly squealing of a vacuous nature (I was rather more gynaecological about it than that) the thick shit still didn't get the point.

When a large googly eyed cow who had obviously been for a bath in cow poop decided she liked us enough to follow us, block our path and stare us down almost nose to nose, and daughter got panicky (I wasn't too happy either) he showed no qualms and kept on walking.

Don't get me wrong, I'm very fond of him, but as to relying on him to assume I have little things of any gravity such as a brain or an opinion, or genuine disquiet - forget it. He wouldn't think that way, ergo I don't mean it. Or maybe its just the idea of me being other than indestructible that just won't register. I know I avoid being a simpering girly-girl like its the plague, but have I overdone it?

In the end we were out for another four hours, and the little village just up the road? Its true its only about five or six miles from home if you take the road, but following all the curves in the river you can triple that.

When he finally realised he had pushed his luck too far, there was suddenly and remarkably no plea of poverty when I pulled my best 'demon dog from hell' face and growled that were going to get a taxi home from the village, or else. At Sunday rates, to boot.

The whole point of sharing this little love story is to explain why I am blogging for the third time today.

It's because, however fit I felt this morning, however much I had to do around this house before going to collect the children from school, whatever small, trapped, 'Within These Walls' style plans I had, I made the mistake of sitting at this computer and actually doing some work, for a couple of hours.

And now I can't get up. The backs of my knees have seized. So I thought, "Well, while I'm stuck here...."

Now I don't know whether to try and find shoes with heels, to see if that allows me to fake standing upright, or whether I'll still have to lollop and hobble up the street to get the kids.

Somehow Quasimodo impressions look even more bizarre if you're wearing heels, don't you think?


She Weevil said...

I think it must be the indefatagability - I get the same kind of thing. "We'll just give you one more plate to spin and a couple of flaming torches ... Oh and look at for those throwing knives".

What you need is a well deserved rest.

Ally said...

A bath. Shut them all out and take a good book ... and perhaps it'll help the knees :{.

jane said...

I hope you don't mind that I'm laughing at the image of you hobbling down the street in heels.
I agree with Ally, a nice hot bubble bath is the answer.
High and Over looks absolutely beautiful. It's too bad hubby had to add his annual hiking trip to the mix. You lasted much longer than I would have, I can tell you that.
And omgosh, that TV show sounds so interesting. I wish we got it here in the states.

Stegbeetle said...

Pander yourself for a bit and sod the rest of them!
I trust he's no longer chuckling?

Cheryl said...

She W - :-) thanks

Ally - a bath in someone elses house perhaps, here the kids know if they fight outside the door they still get your attention.

Jane - thanks to you too!

Steggy - you know it. Its my turn, although the fun is gone from that. If only he and I communicated entirely in writing...... :-)

fineartist said...

I understand entirely what you are saying in this post. Let me explain how while at the same time trying not to be a total bore who goes on and on about her trip of a lifetime, okay?

As you know I just recently got back from visiting Paris, then we took a bullet train--one of the few times we actually got to RIDE something to our destination, and not have to cram into a subway, nervously watch for our stop, and frantically scramble off while making sure all of our ducks were with us, and then walk several--seemed like hundreds of--miles to where ever we were going--to the south of France--Nice and Cann. That bullet train it rocks! We covered the size of Texas in about five hours time, now that's some impressive distancing.

Anyway, Then we took a bus to Italy, got dumped off on an Italian highway at Pisa and had to hoof it to the Baptistry, church and leaning tower. By the time we finally passed all the vendors and made it to the gate of the beautiful buildings mentioned above, I was so excited and a little loopy that I managed to make the first step, warn everyone else that there was one and then, proceeded to fall off the second one. I fell to the ground in a heap, flinging coffee all over the damned place. The entire crowd went OHHHHH! Yah, I was embarrassed and hurting, so I got up as fast as I could to save what dignity I had left, pfft, and tried to get lost in the crowd.

Do I need to mention that Italian drivers do NOT yield to pedestrians? I think they run people down for sport, or try to. Death Race 2000 comes to mind, you know that movie with David Carradine?

Picked up at the highway dumping place and rushed to Florence, where I forgot to rub the pigs nose, and I definitely want to be going back to Florence because it is spectacular. We walked again all over Florence for hours. I had blisters on blisters, and noticed a pronounced hump on my back and it wasn't just my back pack...but it was worth every excruciating moment of pain.

And what is with this paying to use the restrooms? Good jod. You know me, as cheap, I mean thrifty as I am, I was dehydrated the entire trip, well most of it. So badly that when my face was pinched, it stayed that way. Picture constant furrowed brow, so I had a hump on my back, blisters on my feet and a face that looked a hundred, but what the hell, I had a great time.

Assisi was a walk fest too, and like before well worth it.

Then on to Rome, walkity walk walk walk, after we got there. The Vatican city, more of the same. Michelangelo, made it all worth while, and all of the other early Christian antiquities. Oh man I dug that place.

Samps has labeled our tour EF fat camp, but I am sure it did us both some good. Like I said, I can now walk like a house on fire while carrying all of my belongings strapped to my back like a cart horse and I can watch for pocket pickers and keep persistent vendors at a distance. I am the woman. Sounds like you are too. And I LOVE EUROPE!

xxx, Lo

fineartist said...

Oh crap, forgot to mention that one of the reasons I was dehydrated was because a bottle of water cost E3,50...that translates to $4.55 American, yah, I almost passed out.