In the wars

There’s been a swathe of injuries in the family this week. Today I joined the walking wounded, by metaphorically shooting myself in the foot this morning and literally slicing my hand this afternoon.

Owen had taken some kicks to the leg earlier in the week, Carmen has fractured her toes after coming off second best with some stairs and a wall, with Matty getting in on the action too by slamming her elbow into the door this evening.

The foot shooting was a direct result of feeding Simmo’s daughter one of my world famous (in our little circle) chocolate chip cookies and bragging of my golfing credentials and prowess. The cookie clearly gave her super powers as she proceeded to trounce me, Simmo and the wee ones at a game of crazy golf. Used to defeat, I took it like a champ and threw my putter in the lake and left them all to walk home.*

We did find time for a wander around the increasingly busy Brockhole, squeezed in a picnic, a quick paddle in the surprisingly warm lake for the wee ones before a final session in the awesome playground. Despite the age gap, Simmo’s daughter was great with the wee ones, who talked about her the rest of the day and how nice she was. I told them that she almost definitely gets that from her father…

When we returned home, my parents had just arrived for their week long stay, so we had a nice catch up before they came back again later on for chippy tea. That is when I sliced my hand cutting up a battered sausage as Matty was bouncing around the kitchen.

Injuries aside, it has been an absolutely lovely day, having fun and spending time in the best of company.

Ready for bed now.



*This is a lie. I didn’t throw my putter in the lake.