Misplaced hooves

I haven’t posted any photos of buster recently so here you go:


Note how shiny his coat is. Such a cutie.

I just got back from a ride and still stink of horses and so, am blissfully happy. We had a nice hack though I was told yesterday that my man was super lazy and tripping up a lot :/

We checked him over before we set off…no back pain, leg pain, hoof tenderness or general malaise. I had him trotted up and diagnosed some slight non concerning dishing of one rear leg but no sign of lameness.
All good then, I figured. We set out, slopping our way through the muddy paths, keeping in walk or trot…we took a naughty route that is probably a footpath and not a bridleway but the ground looked so nice that we snuck through for a cheeky canter. Buster was really up for it, bounding forward with grace. Then on the way back at a trot he managed an almighty trip on his front legs where I really thought we were going down. Luckily he found his footing before his knees struck the ground but not many paces later at a walk we had the same phenomenon. It turns out he had his pedicure and new shoes on Friday and it would appear that he hasn’t “worn them in” yet….hmm, I hope the trim wasn’t too short because I don’t buy any other theories about tiredness…laziness maybe, but that didn’t feel like a tired horse to me.

I’ve been blissfully free from the fear of a tripping horse for the last year, but now…

Bottom line is that Buster is awesome, handsome, shiny, cute and I forgive him for forgetting where his feet were and trying to faceplant in the mud.

“I am surrendering to gravity and the unknown”

Forgetfulness leaves a bitter taste

It’s finally happened. I’m left with such a bitter taste in my throat.

Lack of organisation and extreme goldfish attention span had me scrabbling in the medicine drawer for the liquid version of prozac because all my pills are gone. I mean ALL. I’ve been bleeding my secret stashes for weeks..all those emergency few I have in a handbag or next to the bed, in the cutlery drawer, down the side of the sofa. All gone, and it’s my own darned fault. Again you are probably thinking I’m being a drama queen but if you’ve ever tasted fluoxetine then you’ll have the greatest sympathy. It’s kind of how imagine a spoonful of bile would taste and it l-i-n-g-e-r-s. It’s really a test of strength because 90% of me wants to just skip a few days to avoid this unpleasantness, but the 10% that can tolerate the spoons reminds me what happens if I do that…so sulkily I concede.

I’d like to blame the doctors for not having their phonelines open 24/7 for repeat prescriptions, and for those rare occasions that I DO call when they are in, being engaged!

I’d also like to blame the pharmacy that dispensed this bottle of liquid evil, as I’ve previously requested the one with sucrose not sorbitol, but here I am with a sorbitol, slightly minty flavoured liquid that is trying and failing to mask the gag and wince inducing bilious bitterness of this medicine.

I’d like to, but honestly it’s my own damned fault and this is my penance for not getting new pills weeks ago…

“I was alone, falling free, trying my best not to forget”

Fate doesn’t want me to get out of bed at 6am

Today, I made several grave weather-related errors:

When I read the weather forecast and it didn’t agree with what I saw, I should have put more faith in my eyes than the virtual weatherman.

When I suspected foul weather I should have donned my waterproof trousers and considered something other than a long jumper that hangs out beneath my jacket.

When the gloomy sky made itself known, I should have tied my hair up and not bothered applying makeup.

When my glasses steamed up, I should have taken them off straight away rather than cycling through a hazy woozy house of mirrors for 10 mins.

This is the second day in a row of getting up at 6 and cycling to work for 8:30. On both occasions I was miserably and comprehensively soaked, and had to forego my glasses because even my own blurry sight is better than the steamy distorted alternative. Clearly the universe is telling me that I must not go to work at such an hour, and I think I will heed that warning, lest I get struck down by lightening tomorrow.

Why Universe!? why must I be shat on for making an effort for once in my damned life?

P.s.When I was offered a morning coffee I should have jolly well drunk it.

“She said: I hate the rain
But here it comes again”

Well, chaps, I’m feeling distinctly average, and so, feeling thus, I shall overuse commas

Today I’m feeling grossly banal. Not only have some exceptionally unflattering conference photos been released, but I’ve also got medium sized calves and am devoid of unique ideas.
Ok the first two don’t sound too disastrous do they, but I have bouts of paranoia about body image and I had rather thought that at that conference that I looked perfectly ok, good even, more polished than usual. I think we all know that scientists are not renowned for their dashing good looks,  so I hoped I might be in the upper quartile on a good day, but what I see in the mirror never lives up to the horror that photography can consistently capture. Next time I’ll be sure to wear a cardi, try and keep my number of chins under control and actually consider hair styling products :S

As for the calf sizing, well I bought myself some half chaps, loveson fleece lined ones as you are asking, and was somewhat surprised to find that I would need a medium adult size. Now don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with being medium, it’s just that it comes, to me, with the connotation of being average. My calves are adequately normal and altogether unremarkable. On a plus, during rides, in addition to this, they will also be warm.
Ok so this isn’t about my calves. It isn’t even about the photos. It’s my boss.

We have these discussions together, about things like mechanisms and possible experiments and modeling and hypotheticals…only…I think I’m being used. She was stuck coming up with a new project until we had a lengthy chat wherein I was the catalyst for her great idea. I think she’s using me like a mascot or something because for two days running all I seem to hear from her are along the lines of:

Thats the first thing I thought
I thought of that already


Honestly, if she doesn’t want my run-of-the-mill ideas that she has already thought of (due to quite significantly higher intelligence), then why not have the decency to say she just wants me to nod and agree with her (probably knows I’d disagree on principle) Not that I see much weight in the opinion of someone seemingly incapable of unique or useful thoughts. I suppose that even people of lesser intellect and or experience can occasionally be useful, and therefore it’s worth keeping them feeling like you care about what they think. But what when the veil slips eh?

“Just the beating of hearts,
Like two drums in the grey”

PS if you ever find a nice photo of me, rest assured it’s either heavily photoshoped, or someone else.

Caged heart


I have a caged heart.
A beating human heart, inside a black birdcage.

This is not the start of some bad poetry, this is in my living room. Naturally the heart is a replica…I mean, a real one wouldn’t still beat after so long ex vivo without perfusion, and then there is the incompatibility with my vegetarian lifestyle, not to mention the pesky moral and legal implications. I get some interesting reactions from people when they discover this dark corner of my house.

I’d rather have this than some stock figure from ikea.

(not that I’m dissing ikea…the birdcage is sat on an ikea cabinet for goodness sake)

“And yes it seems as though I’m going nowhere really fucking fast.”

Winter already?

Something amazing happened. A CD arrived for SO (in itself utterly unremarkable and de rigueur), but for once it was something that I actually liked! It was a band called “comes with the fall”. Check them out.

Today’s cycle ride had quite a few blank moments. I did think about all those people I should be contacting, who I WANT to contact, but something always gets in the way. I even thought about writing here what I want to say to them, but that is probably the most pathetic and pointless idea I have ever had. I had a stare-down with a pedestrian who couldn’t decide if they were going to walk on the cycle track or not…I went to go around her, but then she changed lanes, so I broke and went around the other way, only to have the same thing done again. She stared at me like I’d just thrown dog turd in her face…clearly my fault for not having my psychic cycling sensors on high enough. Silly moo….lucky she didn’t get an earful of FFS!

We lost 10 degrees c in 24 hours and my bum didn’t like this..in fact it went on a feeling strike, so affronted was it that I hopped on my bike without thermal longjohns on.

“So this is how it feels to be insane
The world looks like a movie always playing”

Never seen blue

It’s one of those days where the sky, in its torment, is in a perpetual cycle of weeping and sniffling. Water pooled on the bike shed roof undulates like it’s populated by a mass of baby eels and I’m glad it’s not a cycling day.

Sadly it is also, thanks to the torrents, not a horse riding day, and so I resign myself to a day of housework and attempting the telegraph crossword from yesterday’s paper. I can’t even muster the enthusiasm to go and get my free coffee from the local waitrose, and the coffee maker here needs cleaning. Boxes of coffee pods, no instant coffee and a machine that needs just a little tlc. Rather than fix the problem, of course, I will drink black tea instead, though we all know that this is not a very reasonable substitute as far as hot caffinated beverages go.

“Got a little red line
That tells you, boy
Where the razor’s been”

In which I get elbowed in the face and yet have no bruise to prove it

As the title suggests I was victim to an elbow-face collision last night that required some 30 mins of frozen pea attendance.

You can guess whose elbow was involved.

Ok, you say, that’s domestic abuse, kick his ass out…well…it was somewhat of an accident…

Oh right, one of those things eh? Hang on…you said “somewhat“, like there’s more to this…

Hmm. Ok so apparently some people have weird hypersensitivity in various body parts that instigates an involuntary flinching motion, usually involving the arms.

You can see what happened then. I hit the  trigger zone by mistake.

Only in this case the zone is quite large…and when rolling over in bed a hand could easily and mistakenly glance close to the neighbouring hostile zone known as the botty.

I swear I barely even made contact, and certainly not on purpose..I’ve spent years dodging those reflex motions but this one caught me unawares and right on the cheekbone.

I had to ice it for ages.

This morning there wasn’t so much as a mark on me, but an alleged bruise on SO’s elbow. Well boo-hoo.

According to the Internet, this kind of thing is called tactile defensiveness. Trust Google to find a diagnosis for this bizarre behaviour…

“Still stuck inside excuses and I can’t get out”