Misadventures

Last weekend, my poor husband came a cropper while we were picking plums. He is allergic to wasp stings - not in an anaphylaxis, rush-to-the-hospital kind of way, but sufficiently such that the area around any sting will inflate and go a funny colour. He is supposed to carry Piriton or some such with him at all times, but, well, you know what men are like.

A walk on the wild side

And so it was that, when reaching up into the tree for a particularly juicy fruit, one of the little blighters flew up his sleeve and stung him slightly right of centre. Fellow allotment holders were amused to see him rip off his shirt and hop around declaiming loudly. It wasn't fatal, but he did go up a cup size for a couple of days.

This weekend's mishap came when we were out walking and taking some pictures for an ongoing book project. We were following a marked footpath that took us through some stables and I was intrigued by what looked like a roundabout for horses. Naturally, t'other half knew what it was: a sort of equestrian treadmill. He leaned in for a closer and in doing so touched the electric fence. Cue more leaping and shouting, though mercifully he kept his clothes on this time.

He is going off on a golfing holiday shortly, but to be honest I'm not sure if he's safe out on his own.