A Boring Epistle

Just occasionally I feel the need to bore those of you who read this blog with some mundanities. Mundanities which bring me joy and happiness. Mundanities which make me laugh. Mundanities which bring tears to my eyes. Mundanities which are my life.

I am writing this on Saturday evening at one glass of wine (sorry, at 1900 or 7pm in old money).

I woke up on Thursday morning with the realisation that I had an important croquet match at 1000 against a dear friend and the the person who inducted me into croquet, Jayne. I am the holder of the Dorothea Sweetapple Trophy and was keen to win the final match of the annual tournament and hold onto the trophy. However if I were to lose the final I would love Jayne to be the one to beat me.

Since the Hawkes Bay Tournament where we played croquet for up to 10 hours in a day for seven days I've had tenosinovitus in my left hand. In fact I haven't played very good croquet for nearly a month. So at 0845 on Thursday I went to the physio for treatment and to have the hand bandaged. Then a coffee and a relaxing crossword in the sun of a pavement café. Then I realised there was a barber near the café. And I had a most, shall I say, interesting haircut. The attention to the minutest detail by a giant wielding minute scissors instead of the hedging shears that would have been better suited to his hands would have been almost touching had it not also been so time-consuming.

I won the match in straight games.

Then Jayne and Colleen took me to lunch at The Gintrap. Jayne and Colleen and I are the terrible trio who career around the country going to tournaments together. They have gone to one this weekend without me 'cos it's too near my leaving. Sad. The frequent texts attest to the proceedings that I am missing.

Last night 'the family' came to dinner. Martin took the children up to The House to bed after Wild at Heart and Wendy and I settled down to watch an interesting programme on cosmetic medicines and wait for Martin to return. We both went to sleep and missed the conclusion. What was ironic was that we'd both had a rather abstemious evening so couldn't even blame our lethargy on alcohol.

Today I played some of the best golf and association croquet I've played for ages. Croquet happiness returned.

Life's fun. Life's good. Life's, well, just that, life. Has to be better than the alternative.