Salt in the Wound

I woke up with a stinking cold. My broken toe was pretty sore, having somehow freed itself from the bonds that tied it to its neighbouring toe. (Are you feeling sorry for me yet?)

So I checked my agenda to see whether I was scheduled to be lounging in front of the telly all day ... Turned out not. We headed into town, slipping and sliding and (in my case) thoroughly testing the car's ABS when a Range Rover stopped in front of me on the by-pass to have a good gawp at some folk who'd driven off the road. Destination: Mr B's parents to liberate them from their housebound state. I guess there are lots of housebound-by-ice folk in cities with no gritting of pavements in the UK just now - and I'm sure they're all going stir-crazy. So we dug and chipped ice and shovelled and salted and gritted and got it all done.

Hang on, I hear you cry, where did you get salt and grit from? Well, good question. I did spend some time on the phone discovering that the Council has been buying up all supplies of anything that might do the job from all the DIY stores, garden centres and builders' merchants in the area, but then I remembered that half bag of sharp sand in the garden that I used for planting thyme in the spring, and that bag of dishwasher salt under the sink that I've been meaning to throw out for years....

Once all that was done we headed off to buy a bike helmet for Conor (in the hope that the snow will be gone one day and he can ride his bike outside the house instead of wearing a groove around the sofa with it). His was chosen quickly, but Katherine chose that moment to announce her helmet is too small. We tried every helmet in the shop on her, and only one fit. But she didn't like it. Of course. Seems that she has a round head, and most helmets are designed for folk with oval heads. (Which as Mr B pointed out is a very Cavalier attitude to take to helmet design.... Always handy with a historical joke. The winter evenings just fly.)

All that digging did my cold more good than I thought likely. But I doubt I'll be blipping tomorrow. I'm expecting my sore muscles will have me pinned to the bed moaning quietly (and not in a good way) for most of the day.