Boxing Day

Time to try out the new mountain bike that Mr Chickenlady gave me….

Like everyone else we had stuffed ourselves yesterday and Boxing Day is the traditional ‘walk it off’ day…or in the case of new bikes being received…ride it off…But not by simply going hell for leather and doing 8 – 10 miles (up and down bloody big hills), oh no…you have to make sure that the route takes in at least one or two pubs…child-friendly pubs.

So the Chicken family set off at approximately 1pm to our local pub – a short two mile ride mostly down a gentle slope and then a fairly sharp hill; halfway up which, is the pub. We all achieve this pretty well, I’m not counting my dismount from the bike and final 20 metres done on foot (I don’t do hills very well which is not a good thing considering we live in a very hilly area). We park up the bikes in the pub garden, I strip off to vest t-shirt – that bloody in-built central heating again, courtesy of Scots parents). We enter pub and I’m given many funny looks due to the fact I’m now dressed for August and not December…ah well…Kids sorted with lemonades and crisps so they disappear out to the pub’s adventure play area, great! We catch up with friends and soon I’m two bottles of Magners down (not my usual drink, but I was thirsty) and it’s closing time. Kids rounded up and we return to bikes. All starts off well until we realise that one child has a puncture, I’m not going to fix it so Mr Chickenlady and said child return on foot to the farm. The other child and I head off on the circular route back to the farm.

The circular route is around three to four miles and pretty much half of it is downhill the other half uphill and all of it is through either woods or orchards, so it’s very pretty and very muddy. I manage the downhill bit, child trailing behind and occasionally shouting, “Slow down!” I believe he was concerned he would be left behind….The uphill bit defeats me as I manage to kick the bike’s chain off – don’t ask how, but I was trying to change gear at the time. So I walk the rest back to the farm, thighs burning with lactic acid and face like a well slapped bottom.

At the farm the puncture has been repaired and as there is still a little light left the decision is made to go on to another pub. The other pub is in the village; we live on top of one of the highest hills in our part of the world, the village centre is on another hill and the pub is at the bottom of that hill. It is with great pride that I record my downhill speed of approximately 35mph – one mile downhill done in about two minutes, maybe less. I think the addition of screaming as I went down helped a little. I also discovered that the brakes are pretty good too – at the bottom of the hill is a t-junction onto an A road. We all made it safely to the pub and while there managed to down two pints of Strongbow – again I was thirsty…and by then just slightly drunk.

The return journey was almost all uphill, in the dark, without lights. Halfway up the big hill firstly Mr Chickenlady discovers that he’s peddling like hell (so he thinks) but somehow is going downhill (six pints). Then as he calls for help so one son decides to cycle in front of me, slowly, not a good idea. Somehow I ended up laying in the middle of the road on my back giggling and the bike was in a heap next to me. Fortunately the bike wasn’t damaged and my grazed knees will heal. But Great Aunt Bessie was not impressed when we dropped in at the farmhouse on the way back – she suspected we had gone out with children and bikes and got drunk, then cycled home in the dark – very irresponsible behaviour. Great Uncle Stephen didn’t care – he’s still in bed with his nerves.

Starting Early.....

I know, I know, I said I’d start this on January 1^st….but I also know that some of you were getting bored waiting….so here’s a belated Christmas present to you all….a bit about my Christmas day…with the in-laws…at the farm…..

Full house over in the farm house…Great Aunt Bessie, Great Uncle Stephen, Grandparents, brother-in-law, sister-in-law, their three offspring, and the four of us – Mr Chickenlady, me and our two boy chicks. Food all eaten and we have returned to the warmth of the sitting room, Great Uncle Stephen and Granddad bagging the seats closest to the open fire where they can ‘rest’ with their large brandies. Sister-in-law and I make short work of the damson brandy (tasted a little like Benylin). Mr Chickenlady and his brother go off down the cellar to find more beer…Granny and Great Aunt Bessie sit with the rest of us watching the five grandchildren attempt to build a nuclear warhead out of lego. Until that is, the eldest grandchild decides to show me his best present…. “Look Aunty, I got an air rifle!”

I do my best impressed face and attempt to make the right noises – I know very little about guns and intend to keep it that way – only once or twice have I had a go at clay pigeon shooting; the first time I stood in the snow watching Mr Chickenlady and all his mates have a go in one of the fields until I got so bored of them missing and laughing like loons (many cans of beer had preceded the shoot) that I demanded I have a go – no one believed that a woman could shoot straight…my first attempt and I hit the clay dead centre…sadly it was entirely beginner’s luck, I’m not a crack shot, but a crap shot….

Anyway, back to the nephew and his new air rifle….he starts to show me all the features – from what I can see this consists of trigger, sight and barrel. He impresses me as he breaks the gun (see I even learnt some of terminology…for those of you not in the Huntin’, Shootin’ and Fishin’ brigade, breaking the gun is when you pull down the barrel and it opens above the trigger so you can insert cartridges) and I keep saying, “Goodness, that’s impressive” and so on. Nephew then hands the gun over to me and says, “Try it, just try holding it and aiming, it’s great! And safe – there are no cartridges in it” so I do….I absent-mindedly look down the sights and don’t notice that I’m pointing it at the sleeping form of Great Uncle Simon….and before I realise what I’m doing….I’ve pulled the trigger….Has anyone told you that air rifles still make a bloody big bang even without a cartridge in it…that’s why they’re called Air rifles…compressed air that makes the cartridge fire …

Great Uncle Simon had to go to bed for the rest of the day to allow his nerves to recover and I’m not allowed anywhere near guns or twelve year old boys again.