So it is that we go from possibly the most WONDERFUL Ten Things list I’ve ever done, all full of glitterbombs and friends and love…to what might be one of the most ‘blah’. In fact, NO! Because, come onnn! I’m meant to be practicing at being a writer…so even if my week was blah with goodish bits and some crappyish bits, that’s not BLAH….it’s an opportunity to turn my really mundane list into something which will delight you. Right? That’s what it’s about, innit?
But actually, looking back (THANK YOU INSTAGRAM!) I just remembered a whole bunch of stuff which was decidedly NOT crappy, and now I don’t even have to try to invent something wonderful for you, because the wonderful already exists, which is aweeeeesome (1).
So. Last weekend, everything was taken up by my wonderful Glitterbomb from some of the nicest, kindest and generousest people I know. So there was no time to actually tell you about my week, so forgive me if I backtrack, because last weekend was its own kind of awesome.
Beginning with Friday evening, when I entertained two teams of wonderful netball players by falling over. No, that’s not remotely sufficient to describe what happened. It was nearing the end of the game, and my team was probably *slightly* losing (and if you know me at *all* by now, you’ll know that I’m super-competitive and hate to lose) so we were pretty focussed on scoring a few more goals. I was playing goal attack, which meant that I was one of the main shooters (person who scores goals) in addition to having to zip around all over the court. The ball was being passed, person to person, down towards the end of the court where I needed to be to shoot the goal. So I ran. Fast. And either someone called my name or I just thought I’d be amazing and catch the ball, but I twisted, mid-run, and tried running backwards, to catch the ball and pass it to the goal shooter, who was waiting in *just* the right place by the net…
…when something went badly wrong. Like terribly, awfully wrong. And I kind of steppedonmyownfootandfelltotheground. No, Fell isn’t adequate, either – it was a slow-mo, tree-felling moment, where I kind of toppled from the ankles up, bashing my knee, smashing my elbow, then my shoulder, and then (for all you scientists out there, the part which smashes down at the end, from the highest point, has the most energy in it)…my head. Sideways. Into the (very hard) floor of the court, with such force that it bounced upwards again (still sideways) and wrenched all the muscles in my neck and shoulder on the other side.
There was a stunned, frozen moment of silence, in which I realised that I hadn’t even caught the ball as I fell (just to redeem it a little), and that I was in A LOT OF PAIN, before everyone rushed over, looking utterly horrified and yelling at me to stay still, and debating over which part of me they thought they saw go *SMASH!*.
I sat up, gingerly. It hurt. I wasn’t knocked out, but the world looked a bit woozy. Someone handed me back my glasses, which had gone skittering off to goodness knows where (and somehow were thankfully (2) not broken). And then my nurse friend told me I was in shock. I laughed and told her that yes, it was a surprise, but no, I wasn’t. So she pointed out my hands. Shaking. Crap. Shock.
Someone got me a drink, someone else poured water on some kind of a kleenex so I could hold it to my head, when WHOA! MY HEAD! There was a frikkin EGG on the side of it! You would not BELIEVE the size and immediacy of the lump which grew on my noggin! Cue gentle probing, a check to see that I wasn’t bleeding, the order of a lift home, and a promise elicited from me to not drink any wine with my friend that night (*SIGH*).
BUT my friend did come, and we had a gorgeous time talking until all hours, and then the next day we languidly hauled ourselves up at around midday and then wandered off into town to see the Mela Festival (a celebration of South Asian music (and an Irish band (and flamenco…obv))) where we listened to bhangra music and watched amazing, beautiful, colourful Bollywood routines on stage, with a swarthy young man who strutted and primped around like a rooster, while his lithe, swirling hens, bedecked in finery and gold, danced around him, assuring him that he alone was their lord and master – their king of the roost. It was all very elaborate and the rhythms got into our feet and we found ourselves tapping along. And then there was a very sweet, drunken man in a turban, who came and shook our hands repeatedly and made friends as he beerily enquired where we were all from, and told us that he was a dancer, and also that he had no money for food (cos he spent it all on booze?) and finally left us bemused but happy to have met him. Later there was henna (3).
Oh! We totally had gelato for lunch before the festival. What’s that, like, (4) things so far? Mine was a scoop of raspberry pavlova and a scoop of M&Ms. It was perfect. A great meal, all in one sprinklydelicious waffle cone.
Then there was a rock-climbing wall (5). Now, I’d seen one of these recently when we took Niece and Neff to the fair when it was last in town, and I decided that it was probably criminally expensive, but my friend egged me on, and I had to just *ask*…and it was cheap! So the competitive spirit (complete with walloped head) got up and going, and paid up, stepped up into the harness (tightened on, VERY tight, at crotch-height, by an incredibly cute young man…oy!) before getting myself hooked into a karabiner which would (I was told) hold me if I fell off.
But I am competitive. And stubborn as hell. I did not fall off. I CLIMBED THAT WALL, while my friend stood at the bottom and cheered and took a hundred photos, and I DID IT! Even though I maybe nearly got stuck at the top because WOW! it’s very tiring and my forearms were so fatigued I was shaking, but DETERMINED to press the damn buzzer at the top. And I did. Then I did it again, because it didn’t sound, and it still didn’t sound, but I definitely hit it TWICE. Then I whizzed down and climbed an easier wall and hit the button and it made a big “whoop whoop” noise, so everyone knew I’d won at climbing.
Then later I saw the photo my friend had taken, and I realised I also won at Spidergirl (7). And because I’m sometimes a complete attention whore, shortly after that, all my Facebook friends knew that I’d won at Spidergirl. And now you do, too.
That night there was wine. And indoor frisbee. And a drinking-wine-indoor-frisbee game (8), which involved sound effects, trying not to fall down, trying to stop laughing long enough to breathe, and extra points for whoever could catch the frisbee with their boobs (not me – my boobs proved disappointingly un-dexterous…). Then there was talking til we passed out, a lazy morning, and ice-cream for lunch again.
Then a week in which I shaved a few minutes off my cycle lap times, which was awesome (9). And some crappy bits mitigated by knowing that two of my glitterbombs arrived (9a). In which I learned about “fruits” (9b), and wonderful timing, and that I’m sometimes stupid and sometimes self-indulgently-badly-obsessed, but that neither matters much in the end (9c). And that sometimes I’m not; and that Pintrest and beautiful music and photographs of the world and the decision to do something lovely for a friend, and a kind comment from another friend are what I need to get realigned (9d). And now, an evening of ‘out to coffee’ (which turned out to be one tea (me) and one coke) with a good friend, in a local bar, where we got to sit and watch the sunset and watch people and catch up and make plans for a sleepover soon (10). So YAY! There are silver linings and loveliness everywhere, if I remember where to look for them (Instagram – always check on Instagram…)
And then, finally, today (a LONG TIME after most everyone else in the world, apparently) there was THIS. Which made me die laughing and fall completely in love with the song again, and with Weird Al’s brain (extraspecial 10/10 and five stars for this). And there’s about to be mango (tiny, bright moment of rightnow-real for ya there). Have a GORGEOUS weekend, and I hope very much that you will join in your list.