Ouch!

A busy day yesterday. We decided to ride, and took the horses up to the manege. The roads were clear, but there was ice all over Jolly Farmer's driveway, so I hopped off Max and lead him up. It's the first time Mr O has been there, although of course I've ridden Barnaby there quite often. There was still snow on the surface, so we did a lot of walking round, and did manage to have a trot, but the ice balled up in the horses' hooves again, so we ended up taking them out. Fortunately there was a girl on the yard who lent us a hoof pick, otherwise we would have had to lead the boys home. I said we wouldn't have a canter on the verge, then saw that it looked nice and changed my mind, so we set off, Max straight into flat-out gallop. I'm wondering if it might be worth not riding him at all while the weather is like this, and start again in the spring, rather than doing it in fits and starts like this.
We mucked out when we got back. Missis' horses were all in. Mr O stood there making up the night feeds. Our feed bins are right up against the outside of Fudge's stable, so he can reach over and touch you while you're doing it. He was watching what Mr O was doing, then he picked up his breakfast bowl in his teeth and swung it over the stable, where it landed in the Mollichop bin, as if to say, "While you're at it, put some in there please!" It was so clever, Mr O couldn't resist it and gave him some chop to eat. It's the cutest thing I've ever seen a pony do.
I have bought myself a new magazine called Cardmaking. It is absolutely brilliant, and comes with some free stamps, which are very sweet. I will have to practise with them. I am dying to go back to the craft shop to stock up on card and a couple of punches. It isn't going to take me long to finish my latest cross stitch either, as I am more methodical and therefore quicker, each time I start a new project. Time to try something a little more complicated I think.
Pongo and Missis had a games night last night. Loads of her family were there, plus our nearest neighbours, Housewife and Pilot, who we get on really well with. We played Pictionary, which John has never played, and I haven't played for years, but I have good memories of it being hysterically funny, which it was again. Missis' uncle started drawing. I'm shouting, "Slug? Snail?" Mr O piped up, "Chainsaw?" which it was. Silly me, how could I not have known?! I did guess Loch Ness Monster within seconds though, and Missis' mum guessed my drawing of 'washing line' after I'd drawn three lines. It's the one drawing activity I'm quite good at, as drawing is not my forte at all, but it's all about getting the message across as speedily as possible, and it doesn't matter if you draw stick men.
We also played a game called Pass The Bomb. It is a spelling game, where a few letters are printed on a card, and you roll a dice to see if you must use those letters at the beginning of a word, at the end, or anywhere, provided they are in the same order as on the card. When it's your turn, you are holding a ticking bomb, and have to think of the word and then pass the bomb on. If you are left holding the bomb when it goes off, you are out. It was extremely funny, and very hard, as someone can say the word you were thinking of, just before it's your turn, then you have to very quickly think of something else. Fortunately, words definitely are my thing, and when the letters on the card said, 'her' I said, "Hermenutics!" and passed it on. Everybody looked at me in total astonishment. I can't help what I know, can I? If it was maths I wouldn't have had a clue. Anyway, I didn't win in the end, Pongo did, but I really enjoyed it. I would definitely play it again. Considering it was 11 o'clock at night and I'd had a glass of wine, I was pleased my brain was functioning at all. There were about fifteen of us doing it, but I imagine my brain would fry if there were only about four of us in it. We'll have to have a go some time.
It was snowing again, quite heavily, when we came home, and collapsed into bed.
I actually had my first proper lay-in today (better late than never!) and went to turn Max out. It's been a horrible, miserable day, and it hasn't even been light really. Mr O had an energy burst and has cleared a load of muck and haylage out of the barn, which looks fantastic. He's put loads of wooden bars up so we can hang rugs up to dry, as there isn't room for them all in the stables.
Then, major classic, as I went to feed the cats, I slipped on the stone steps going down to the cat room, and landed on my right side, and banged my right arm on the corner of the stone. I just sat there gasping and pulling myself together, with the cats staring at me as if to say, "No time to dawdle, we're starving!" Isn't it typical that we've had over a week of snow and I haven't fallen over once, only to do this to myself anyway? I limped back into the house, where Mr O doctored me with pain killers and Voltarol. I couldn't type or hold a cup of tea, but it's not so bad now. At least it's not broken. It never is, is it? I am thankful for small mercies.