Is it a bird, is it a plane?

There are certain things I had rather stupidly overlooked when moving to the country such as the clanging of church bells and the smell of manure.  Then there are nice things such as tradesmen and practitioners being a lot less expensive, people in shops being cheery and polite and everyone knowing the names of birds and trees.  Mr Smith: Robin, horse chestnut.  Me: Blackbird, yes I know it's brown; it's Mrs Blackbird,
Christmas tree.  After that it's just bird, tree, let's go shopping ..... for a bird book and I spy trees.

The reason for all this: I found a dead bird, in my dog's mouth.  He didn't kill it but was so proud of his trophy and furious with me for prising his jaws apart to remove feather and maggot.  It was ringed so I looked online and reported it.  I am supposed to keep the ring.  But it is attached to putrid bird and I don't fancy cutting its little leg off.  Consider it reported, end of.  What type of bird?  Gawd, I dunno, one with wings, green wings.  So it must be a greenfinch.  Looks like a greenfinch to me.  Dead greenfinch.

I am repairing well.  I made a pompom sheep and some biscuits.

Rerotation

Arm still hurts like billio.  I even had to forego sewing group on Wednesday in favour of sitting around moaning.  I have been trying to do the treatment and exercises prescribed by the osteopath but, given the amount of pain they render, I suspect he was joking.  I am a fairy with one wing who can only fly in circles.  I have to admit it is a lot better this morning but don't tell Mr Smith.  I need the sympathy which is fast waning if it was ever there at all.  My injury is an inconvenience to him - no oats and he occasionally has to help me with an impossible task such as a zip.  So I think I will keep him as auxiliary nurse for a while longer and no, I will not go to his dull golf club picnic with wasps on Sunday.

And now I want to make pompoms. Am I mad?  No, of course I am not going to make pompoms; that's how I wrecked my rotator cuff in the first place.  I will finish off a quilt edging, apply moisturiser to my crusty ears, make a hair appointment and stick to a diet.

Mulberry, lovely pup, has learnt to lift his leg.  He still does girly wees too but we are so proud of him.  Perfect.

Rotation rotation

At the top of your arm there lies something called the rotator cuff.  This is a part of your body of which you can be blissfully unaware, rather like your liver or pancreas; that is until something goes wrong.  Oh my goodness me how it hurts.  I took it to an osteopath who was thoroughly thorough and good at the naming of parts but it still hurts and by hurt I don't mean gives me a little bit of gyp.  This is the full blown searing agony of a tendon strain that makes you want to scream for your mother temporarily forgetting she is not of the sympathetic tendency and doesn't care to be disturbed whilst on her latest caribbean holiday or flat buying spree in Chelsea.

The problem with lolling about on a sofa all day feeling sorry for yourself watching crappy films eating rubbish food is it makes you very fat.  Rock Hudson was SO good looking (ref to crappy films).  I tried to walk a bit but every step jolted my shoulder and made me want to cry.

Yesterday I took my eyes to the loveliest optician in all of Kent.  He declared my eyes spectacularly brilliant and just recommended sporting the reading lunettes whenever necessary.  No charge.  Must go to pound shop forthwith and stock up on more cheapy readers.  Can't drive due to stupid shoulder. Oh well, I will look at specs on line.  I remember one I loved years ago called Specky Four Eyes.

My puppy still has fleas.  I have waged war against the fleas with potions and sprays but I found one on him that looked in rude health ready to start a family.  Do these things actually work?  They are reassuringly expensive.

Mr Smith has been gardening.  I am impressed.  He is very destructive but it all looks very neat and tidy.  I think I quite liked it messy.  Oh well, it keeps him away from me and my shoulder.

Ow

Something ghastly has happened in my shoulder department.  I cannot move my arm without screaming in agony.  I think it is pompom makers arm as I made hundreds of pompoms and I think the repetitive tying has strained something or caused something to trap and my golly does it hurt.  It feels as though I have an arrow sticking through my shoulder joint.

I have spent two days in bed or in front of the telly motionless.  Pain killers really work and if I o.d. ridiculously I can then move a fraction of a inch.   Someone told me it might be a trapped bicep bit and it will take months to recover.

So all handicrafts are on hold.  I can't even read as I simply cannot concentrate.  Ow.

All things Mulberry

Mulberry has grown.  He is so so so sweet.  We are in love with our puppy and so is everyone else.

The pub had a beer festival.  It was loud.  We went and I got scowled at.  Glen the Good was once more good.  All seems to be forgiven.  But I am not gracing their portals again in a hurry.

Our Mulberry tree has fallen down.  Mr Smith puts on his mulberry gathering outfit and picks away furiously.  Once in a while you get a sweet one.  I made a Mulberry Mouse - amazing.  Just think blackcurrant.

We have redecorated our spare rooms and are awaiting elegant curtains.  We need them by Tuesday when we have a full house - Mr Smith's golfy friends.  I am running a B&B for free!

I seem to be enormously fat.  Oh dear.