But it really is terribly goddamn cold. Since Phil and I are presently sharing a car, I had to take the bus out to the town where the stable is, and then walk a mile. Cold. Mucked and had Kipper’s shoes taken off by the farrier, as he’s not doing a lot of work right now and seems to have feet of iron. Lunged him in the outdoor arena, but the footing had the consistency of cement. Walked a mile back to the bus stop, only to have the goddamn bus roar past me when I was just feet from the stop. Almost an hour until the next one. Then I did the last bits of Christmas shopping, bought myself something hot and comforting made of pastry, bacon and cheese, and went home to thaw. My toes are still tingling, hours later.
I have a hate/hate relationship with cold weather. When I was very young, my sister and I froze our hands and feet while feeding horses at six in the morning. (Hip-deep snow, and the wire cutters were lost, so we stood for ages trying to get the haybale open.) The treatment for this is exquisitely painful; perhaps not as bad as childbirth, but still not something that you’d want to undergo without, say, morphine. They put your hands and feet into cool water, and gradually, slowly, warm it to bring them back to proper temperature. As the blood returns to your numb appendages, it hurts/cramps/feels like fire running down your nerves. God, I can still remember how that felt. So, as a result, my feet are very sensitive to cold.
Why, you ask, did I move to England? I wonder that on occasion. ;)
We taped Fiddler on the Roof today, solely so that I could get nostalgic over having sung in it during high school. *s*
There’s a lot of stuff on rathergood.com that I haven’t seen, like the baby hedgehogs. I needed a dose of kittens to get the “badgerbadgerbadgermushroom, mushroooom” out of my head. (Thanks a LOT, Phil.)
I’m starting to look forward to Christmas. A bit.