I am a Cow Watcher

Good God I’m knackered. Seven days of non stop sightseeing and carousing with my visiting Aussie buddy has left me as squinty eyed and dehydrated as a smoked mackerel.

Unfortunately, she has now left Cornwall ’s fair shores. Sob. But we (Simonski and I) certainly gave her a good hard flogging while she was here.

We took her to beaches (where we paddled in water so cold that we lost all feeling in our toes), the mountains (where I realised I am not afraid of heights, I am only afraid of cliffs), the fields (where I encountered* my favourite kind of cow – the delightfully fluffy ‘Banded Galloway’) the pubs (so many pubs…).

So all in all, an action packed week.

My favourite part was a visit to the local Legion’s club where we were served cheap drinks in delightful company, sang karaoke (Burning Ring of Fire) and did Irish dancing and cartwheels in the streets til the early hours. I blame mead.

* ‘encountered’ makes it sound like we just happened upon them. In fact I dragged us to Zennor and searched every field in the manner of a crazed cow spotter (if train spotters are called ‘twitchers’ does this make me a moo-er?)

Is it wrong to dangle bits of yourself into an occupied cubicle?

Today I was in a cubicle in the toilets at work when someone entered the toilets, took up position in the cubicle next to moi, then settled in with her foot IN MY CUBICLE. Why??? It was a rather large foot with toe nails in need of attention, clad in a comfortable black sandal. What was it doing in MY cubicle? There is obviously sufficient room in a toilet stall for you to keep your appendages contained. It was almost resting between my ankles.

I found this v disconcerting. I also became extremely interested in the footwear of everyone within my company but have not spotted the same shoe yet. I have concluded it must have been an outsider.

My boobs have been flapping around like a spaniel's ears for three weeks...

Good God. I have just realised that my boobs have been flapping around like a spaniel’s ears for the last three weeks without my knowledge.

How did this happen, I hear you ask?

As the weather has been warm (by UK standards), I had taken to wearing a singlet to my circuit classes. It is one of those singlets with a built in bra top, so I felt it was safe for circuits. I wore it secure in the knowledge that my modesty would be preserved as I squatted, star jumped, and generally bounced about.

I was so, so wrong.

My house has no full length mirrors. If I want to see what an outfit looks like, I have to stand in front of our glass shower screen. However, I have never ‘bounced’ in front of the shower screen – I have not felt the need to. And I certainly have not bounced in front of the shower screen in my workout gear.

This is a mistake I will not make again.

For after THREE weeks, THREE weeks of star jumps, tuck jumps, skipping and other boob bouncing behaviours, I - whilst strutting through Falmouth on a power walk this afternoon – caught sight of myself in a shop window and gasped. Suddenly, the ogling I’d received from some elderly men on a pub crawl made perfect sense. I was boinging about like nobody’s business.

Evidently my ‘inbuilt bra’ was not built for boobs on the move. It was a wonder no one arrested me on my 45 min stroll for indecent behaviour.

I immediately put my coat back on and, arms crossed, strolled very carefully home where I confronted Simon.

Our conversation ran thus:

K: For the love of God – why did you not tell me how much my boobs bounced around in this top?

S: I thought you knew

K: How could I possibly know? We don’t have a full length mirror. There aren’t any mirrors at circuits. They’ve been flying around, barely contained, for three weeks now! Why didn’t you say something….Oh God… I’ve been doing STAR JUMPS like this! And SKIPPING!!!

S: I like it.

K: Well I don’t! Those poor men in our circuit class. They mustn’t have known where to look. I’m bopping, I’m bouncing. Good God Simon! I’m your WIFE.

S: I know. I like it.

Etcetera. Honestly, what hope do I have?