Talking Nonsense - We're Getting Old

Happy Friday everyone, I hope you've had a fantastic week. 

I for one can't believe it's Friday already; it's been one of those weeks where I've been a bit lazy and each day I've thought "ah, it's only Tuesday, I'll do it tomorrow"... then all of a sudden, it's Friday and I've got absolutely nothing on my to-do list done!

I probably have more important things to do this afternoon, like trying to market and sell all the wonderful clothes I have in my stockroom, but I'm taking my hour to do my column regardless. It took me a minute to decide what I was going to write about this week; I asked myself what has happened this week? Are there any funny stories to tell? Anything vaguely interesting going on in my life? And the answer is nothing, nope, no. 

And then it hit me, that's just it isn't it? The weeks topic is how old and boring I am getting, and here's my proof...

 
1. We got excited about going to Ikea and buying shelves. 
Yes, you read that correctly. Growing up with DIY enthusiasts for parents I quickly learned to resent places such as Ikea, MFI and Homebase where my Mum and Dad would spend HOURS deciding on paint colours, wallpaper patterns and screws (so many screws) and in turn I would huff anytime a spontaneous detour to such an outlet was announced. But alas, times have changed and you know you are nearly 30 when you eagerly jump in the car and head off on the hour-long drive to wait in a 45-minute queue to buy floating shelves, picture frames, Fejkas (fake plants) and kitchen utensils. What have I become? 

2. Arran built a fence
Not only did Arran build his first fence, but he was really, really proud of it. He dug the hole, cemented the posts in, cut the slats (is that the correct word?) into points and nailed them all on, each parallel to the next and standing tall and proud between our driveway and our neighbours. When he was finished I was summoned outside and we both stood to admire said fence in the peeing down rain. In fact, he's still going on about it now and when I asked "what should I write about in my column this week?" he said, "write about my fence". So here you are Azz, your fence has been included!

 
3. We prefer a hill walk rather than a night in the pub.
This one might have something to do with the dreaded RONA but neither of us is missing the pub. I mean, I am missing wine a little bit after giving up "couch wine" (basically, giving up drinking at home on the couch by myself, drinking in company is permitted) but I'm certainly not missing the sticky floors of Weatherspoons. Instead, our weekends are spent climbing large hills and going on lovely countryside walks that somehow always lead to more large hills. Last weekend we journeyed to the top of the Grey Mare's Tail which is a gorgeous waterfall just outside Moffat in Southern Scotland but instead of being a quiet, scenic trek, it felt more like negotiating the crowds at the Great Wall Of China (I've never been, I'm just speculating). Every man, woman, child and their dug was on that walk on Saturday and we moved at snail's pace up the sharp cliff edge. The view from the very top was worth it though!

 4. My plants are surviving 
They called me "the plant killer". I can keep a horse alive but my address is where the house plants and all plants for that matter previously came to die. Sorry, but the odds were never in your favour here little ones. Well, NO MORE, I tell you, no more! My house plants, all nine of the real ones and four fake-Fejkas are now thriving in my care. I even have flowers on my Peace Lilies which I'm told is hard to achieve, but I think this information may have been fabricated to encourage me to believe in my green fingers, but never-the-less I've chosen to believe it. 

 5. Getting to the bottom of the wash basket is the best feeling in the world.
Now, considering there is only two of us in the house, we get through A LOT of clothes in a week. To be fair, Arran is a bricky so comes home dirty every day and I deposit my stable clothes (AC everyday of course) and my sweaty running clothes in the basket daily, so it's not long in piling up. But when that moment comes; when we've had a run of good weather to allow for multiple loads on the washing line and finally, we see the glorious brown lining of the bottom of the basket... VICTORY! Pop the champagne (oh wait, no don't do that, I'm not drinking just now), we've officially graduated into adulthood!

Can you tell that with only three weeks left of my twenties I've got "being old" on the brain? I know 30 isn't actually that old but I used to view people who were in their 30s as extreme adults, whereas I still have to phone my dad to ask how to change a tyre or to find out where the drill is kept. I might run an international business and be the sole carer of a big-ass horse but I don't quite feel ready to be an "adult" yet!

Anyway, that's enough nonsense for today, let's get back to business...

 
Sarah x