I managed to knock myself out this morning. No, not climbing. No, not falling out of a tree with a turkey. No, not by having myself smashed into a rock by tons of surging water. No, by being kicked by a horse.
It's embarrassing, but it just goes to show that really one might as well live dangerously and have fun. Tomorrow you too could be attacked by a Hills hoist (a windi-dry - one of those spinning clotheslines). We have a very elderly and very heavy solid steel one. Pre-war :-). It has one low bent arm. We live in the roaring forties. And they were roaring... I had hung a few sheets out - as Barbs had gone up to the horses and I had the week's baking in, I was hanging up the washing. It's not precisely my metier but I can turn my hand to most things. Yeah, I know, Barbs says I do it wrong, but at least its done. And she's figured by now that if she doesn't like the way I do things, she's welcome to do them herself - which most of the time she does.
I bent down to grab a bunch of socks and delicates for the inner lines, trying to get this all done in a hurry, as usual. Stood up fast turning around. And straight into the low arm... which like me, was moving fast. Sadly, I was moving one way, and it was moving in the other. And like ships that don't pass in the night, we went bump.
I do recall holding my head and deciding I would sit down before I fell down. And then I came to up with a pair of Barbs panties over my face, lying on the wet grass. It's a good thing it didn't kill me, because I hate to imagine the poor local copper dealing with this one and the photographs of the deceased. Norman swears he took some great pics and they'll be up on facebook. Huh. Keep looking.
Anyway, it all goes to show that hanging up washing can be harmful to your health. And a sock would have made a much better cold compress.
I have a headache and am going to bed now.