God, I needed a day off work. I just woke up from a nap, watched a movie, and now I’m going to go back out to the yard. (That’s the stable, for everyone back home, not the yard behind the house. That is called a back garden here.)
Since we’d watched everything we had on tape and DVD, I watched a movie that would send Phil screaming away covered in hives…Notting Hill. This is an unarguably lightweight movie that I probably thought quite romantic while I lived in the States. The reality has been…somewhat different. No less romantic, in its way, but very different. (Phil is nothing like Hugh Grant, whom he despises; although I admit the boyish, diffident public-school charm is effective, the blowjobs-from-prostitutes thing would put me off. lol…) Not that we’re The Royle Family, exactly, but our lives are so different from the fantasy that so many Americans on seem to have. It’s wonderful, but it’s definitely real life. Although my experience probably differs from someone like Madonna, for example, who lives like a queen on her 1,000 acre estate – perhaps her life is somewhat more like the movies. ;)
Anyway, back to my undoubtedly real life.
I tried to ride Lizzie today, as planned, but she is higher than a kite after her extended box rest and even after lungeing she was still rock hard with tension, pogo-ing up and down, ready to explode. When it takes two people to try and hold a horse down long enough for you to get on, it’s probably not a good idea. Yeah, I got off fairly quickly. I’m turning her out again in the pastures, sink or swim…I have to do something, or this horse is going to spontaneously combust. Poor thing.
Phil texted me about the news about the guy being shot in London…very scary. I admit that I am a bit nervous about going there next week. But, as I pointed out to Phil, the odds of me being blown up by a suicide bomber are MUCH lower than the odds of me being killed by my own horse. :)