Yet more evidence that Fran and Outdoors are not best friends

I have problems with wind.

No, this isn't an intimate confession about digestive disorders.  I write those on my other blog 'Intimate Confessions about My Digestive Disorders' which, oddly, doesn't seem to be getting a lot of readers, along with its sister blogs 'Descriptions of my Warty Growths' and 'Adventures with Toenail Clippings'.

No, by 'wind', I mean the blowy stuff.

Here's a proper dictionary definition, in case you felt my definition 'the blowy stuff' lacked some precision.


Wind: air in natural motion, as that moving horizontally at any velocity along the earth's surface.  

Air?  Motion?  Moving horizontally?  Velocity?  Along?  The words themselves make me suspicious.  There is far, far too much movement involved there.

If someone offered me a 'day out in windy weather' and someone else offered me 'a day cleaning hairs out of other people's plugholes' I would take the latter and be truly grateful. I remember walking along a canal once with a friend and it was really windy, the kind of windy that flattens all your clothes against your body so that everyone coming towards you can see your real shape, even down to distinguishing that last night you had pie, chips and peas for dinner followed by three Flakes and a choc ice.  I was only just tolerating it all but the friend was gushing like a geyser with diarrhoea about the experience. She was all, 'Oh, this is AMAZing!  Don't you just LOVE the wind blowing through your hair?!  It's an inCREDible feeling!'

I said to her, 'If you don't shut up about it, sunshine, you'll be in the canal feeling the water blow through your lungs, and see how you like that.'  I was getting pretty cheesed off (can you tell?) mooching along with my hands in my pockets, trying to hide the pie and chips from all the other walkers and cursing Wordsworth and anyone else who recommends leaving one's house voluntarily.  Funny, haven't had a Christmas card from that particular friend for ages now.

These days, before I go outside, I look at the trees at the back of our house.  For me to venture over the front door mat, they have to look like this.

Fran's favourite kind of tree. Disciplined.  Orderly.  Still.




If I see THIS out of the window, on the other hand ...




I'm checking www.daysoutcleaningplugholes.co.uk and signing up.

Is it just me?  It usually is, but you never know ...




Comments

  1. Steve1/8/12 10:11

    You're not overly approving of kites then?

    ReplyDelete
  2. Anonymous1/8/12 11:15

    Kites are GOOD, even if the ones from Lidl at £3.99 cut your hands up something terrible with their cheap nylon lines. I like the wind, but my partner and my cat both go into hiding when it's windy, it reminds me of being a small child tucked up in a cosy bed ;-)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Fran Hill1/8/12 11:29

      Exactly! A cosy bed is just where one should be. I approve of your partner and cat.

      Delete
  3. Frances Garrood1/8/12 11:19

    I think that definition of wind would cover the...er...digestive kind too.

    Personally, I would avoid hairs in plug holes at all costs. Especially the short, cur....oh, never mind.

    Horses don't like wind, so you're in the best company :0)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Fran Hill1/8/12 11:31

      Horses are more sensible than I thought. Peoples, go to Frances' blog if you want to see The Most Impressive Bruise of the Year. And I've just downloaded one of her books onto my Kindle. Sounds really good.

      Delete
  4. Martin1/8/12 11:55

    Your friend sounds like my kinda gale!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Fran Hill1/8/12 11:58

      You'd like her. She just breezes through life.

      Delete
  5. stephen Hayes1/8/12 12:44

    Where can I find these other two blogs you mentioned? They sound fascinating!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Fran Hill1/8/12 12:47

      You can find them if you google 'Blogs Which Should Never See the Light of Day'.

      Delete
  6. Janie Junebug2/8/12 00:55

    I once left work on a windy day when I was wearing a full pleated skirt. Before I knew it I looked like Marilyn Monroe in "The Seven Year Itch," but I was a bit prettier than she was. People driving along in their cars stopped to look, expecting to see a remake of the film being made.

    Love,
    Janie

    ReplyDelete
  7. SmitoniusAndSonata2/8/12 01:54

    I agree . Feeling ruffled doesn't add to the pleasure of taking a stroll . But , having recently embraced a life of indolence and sloth , I'm not overly enthusiastic about your alternative .
    I'll just sit this out , if I may .

    ReplyDelete
  8. broken biro2/8/12 04:11

    Thanks for that blow by blow account!

    ReplyDelete

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