How Matt Won His Damsel

As mentioned previously, Matt and I have recently celebrated our ten-year wedding anniversary.
And I'm sure you'd all like to know how Matt managed to hook a high-class dame like myself, right?

Well, he kindly agreed to tell you (whilst refusing to be shown on the video).



Yes, he told me this awful pun. And, in the immortal words of Johnny Cash, I fell for him like a child.

On reflection, this doesn't seem like such a hot idea.

It's Saturday. On Sunday, we are going to try dirt biking. I have been freely cracking jokes about limb breaking and so on, but I am honestly getting a little nervous. My mother's reaction... well, it didn't help. Even after I told her about all the safety gear I'll be wearing (and the fact that some of Matt's workmates are bringing their children). The tremulous voice as she whispered "Just... be careful, all right?" has made me maybe a tad paranoid.

The thing is, as you all know, I am a little accident prone. A touch on the clumsy side. I am assured that it is a charming quirk of character, and only makes me even more loveable, but it does make for a high-risk life. Also, it makes people assume some sort of tragedy will befall me. The secondary thing is, when I point out that I will probably be fine, these people (of whom there are quite a few) have a whole list of "what about the time?" examples. Damn them.

So, hmm.
1) Broken leg. Car accident, not my fault.
2) Cracked skull. Fell off a swing that I was trying to stand up on onto concrete. Not my fault, because the Council shouldn't have put concrete under the child's play park.
3) Broken finger. Fell off a wall that I was running along. Totally the Council's fault again for not having maintained the wall's physical integrity.
4) Broken wrist. Ok, this one was my doctor's fault, for real. She made me wear flat shoes because I was having a nerve issue in my foot. And then my trousers were too long, and I fell over. There is no way that was not her fault.
5) Broken toe. I dropped a full jar of sauce on it. Accidentally, I hasten to add. It's not my 'thing' to hurl pasta sauce at parts of my body (well, not whilst it's in the jar, anyway). Not my fault. It's... It was... Hmm. yeah, that one was my fault. But bonus points for catching it in a fold of dressing gown a week later and re-breaking it!

And that's just the breaks!
I'm sure some of my friends will remember years ago when I arrived at the forum in a panic from work because I'd accidentally stabbed myself in the hand with a knife I'd been using to open a parcel with, and I couldn't find the first aid kit. I don't remember who it was that suggested paper towels for stopping the bleeding and sellotape to hold the wound shut, but I am eternally grateful to you! (That's totally my favourite scar, by the way.)

Huh, and that's just reminded me about the time I accidentally sliced the edge off my finger at that very same workplace.

And that reminds me of myriad incidents.

Soooo... see title.
Don't worry too much, Matt knows to contact people if I do end up in A&E.

इन व्हिच इ से फुक्क आईटी

Sorry for the breakdown in communication. I have no excuses for the first few weeks, but this last week was pretty much down to blogger being an ass. I changed to the new edit mode, which at first I thought was spiffy. Then I started having trouble with my photos. Then with the text. Then with the photos again. And finally, having managed to change the edit mode back, the formatting's still out of whack, and it started posting all my text in what looks like Arabic (see title). No idea why. I'm fairly sure the blame for that last one can't be apportioned to me, even if the rest can. The formatting is undoubtedly iffy in this post, and I have no idea what day it's going to claim to have been posted on, but it's going up anyway. So... it's like a mysterious adventure, isn't it?

The title, by the way, is in reference to these issues. It says "In which I say fuck it".

Anyway. On our wedding anniversary, we set off down South for a visit to my granny, aunt Hilary and uncle Nigel, none of whom we'd seen in ages.

Our bag choices left us looking a little like gender stereotypes. Even though both bags are mine (and the wee one is a toiletries bag that wouldn't fit in the large one).

We had a fairly meh train journey, due to arseholes making a racket, but we were so excited to be going, we didn't mind too much. When we got down there, Hilary picked us up from Peterborough station. We didn't do an awful lot that first evening, except that my aunt Jill turned up as well, which was pretty exciting, because we haven't seen her in even more ages.

The next morning was the Royal wedding. Poor Matt was stuck watching it with four women, but he had fun trying to point out the worst hat, and looking at the architecture.
The weather was gorgeous. We went for a walk round the village (including the cricket pitch) with my granny and her super-mobility scooter. Let me tell you, this woman gives no quarter! She buzzes along at high speed and if you stop to take a photo, well, you just have to run to catch up.

The village was having a celebration of the Royal wedding. This man (asides from looking awesome) is, I gather, a local councillor.

The village really is just unnecessarily pretty.

Hilary and Nigel's dogs, Billy (on the left) and Cassie.

Billy rather thinks he's a lap dog. Accidental photo of him mid-leap onto Nigel...

Don't get me wrong, it's adorable that he likes to snuggle, but it's best when he doesn't put his entire weight on your lungs.

The next day, we wandered down to the post office, then went to the church for a coffee morning. Celebratory local pub decorations.

Mysterious statue in the church. As Jill pointed out, it had clearly been outside for some time, as it's pretty weathered.

I love these windows.

The church is a bit of a hodge-podge, dating from all different eras.

Clem!

On Saturday afternoon, we took the dogs for a walk. Cassie manages to hold a ball in her mouth AND hang her tongue out the side.

Billy needed a helping hand when his ball-onna-string got caught in the tree.

We went out to dinner at the pub on Saturday, then just had time to take in an antiques fair with Hil and Nigel before heading home. It was an amazing little break. It was so nice to see everyone.

And here we go - interesting little fact. This is a portrait of Michael Faraday as a young man. Theoretically, I am related to him in the most tenuous way - my great great aunt married a man who was descended from his sister. Unfortunately, there's not a lot of information on this, and it could be entirely spurious. I'm still claiming it as an awesome nebulous possibility, though.