i am stiff. very stiff.
on saturday afternoon at approximately five o clock in the evening, i galloped faster than i have in years. in fact, probably since i was 16 and fearless.
it was initially intended. an act of carefree fearlessness. of freakish bravado.
no hat. (i know i know)
so there was this dusty red plain scattered with acacia trees, the odd log and the odd horse neck and leg breaking rider killer aardvark hole.
what was i thinking?
ridiculous thoughts obviously. thoughts which make you do very silly things...like gallop off in fifth gear in no particular direction. on an ex race horse. who has won lots of races. apparently. and, as i belatedly discovered, hates being last.
so away i went, towards the mountain, the setting sun behind me, red dust blinding me, wind screaming in my ears and a horse which was so flat it was almost an inch from the ground, which by this point was a blur. this went on for a long time because clearly i had time to make these observations. i knew what it felt like to be william the conquerer. i had time, babies. i was making time.
quite suddenly and admittedly rather too bloody belatedly, i started thinking sensibly.
y'know janelle, this probably isn't a good idea. no. no. whoops. there goes another AARDVARK HOLE into which horse could stumble, and somersault upon which you will fall onto the ground, break your neck and leave children with no direction home. or end up a live faceless cabbage.
ok yes. fuck. i need to slow down right now damnit.
you try and change gears on a full speed galloping horse. i tried.
in fact, she only sped up. so away we went.
i made it.
and felt like i had just won a world recogized special horse award for excellence generally all round.
returning back to camp i hastily tucked into a bottle of prosecco (as any world champion would) to celebrate this infinitely soul releasing act of foolishness. while i toasted the moon floating up behind kilimanjaro. with my spaghetti thin riding buddy tati, who HAD in fact, aherm, taken a tumble. and returned to my what is becoming an habitual bad habit of thinking irretrievably foolish thoughts.
obviously the evening panned out as i had intended. ya know. responsive universe and all that...remember? in my prosecco fuelled enthusiasm, i guitar peaked too early.
i met a new zealander, a few germans, a few dutchies, a half tanzanian russian, who was a good looking dead ringer for lenin, carlos's spanish family, newly arrived directly from spain, late and wide eyed like bunnies in the headlights and a bottle of jamesons.
as soon as his family unreluctantly stumbled into what was now a run away party, we broke into La La La La Bamba. i promise you carlos LOVES it. and worse, i kept speaking completely rubbish italian to his sister. at any given sodding opportunity. at least i was pleasant to the germans from makowa. i know i was. civil. polite. charming, in fact.
dirk and i sang Keep On Rocking In The Free World about six times, i think it was. i sang my waltz twice. once at seven. again at around ten and then i am sure i sang it again before i went to bed at 4. which would make it three times then. still. the evening ended on a deeply crushing note. dirk said he needed absolutely to tell me that he thought, well, he thought my shirt was just, well, HORRIBLE.
crushed. i tell you. i bloody love it. its acqua, with sort of hindu heads all over it...AND it matches my antique italian jade ring...anyway. boo hiss. can't be helped. i shall have to punish him forever.
bed beckons. my body is so stiff. i am tired. but by god i am wildly happy.
toooodely ole toot then, Oh Bestest, bisous X.X.X. dusty cowgirl ones...