Patrick’s girlfriend brought this home, almost in the middle of the night. Ooooh, I do love this stuff. I couldn’t resist a quick bite before bed.
Patrick’s girlfriend very generously invited me to go for a Thai massage in a wee town on the Swiss German border. Because it was such a beautiful day, I offered to drive us in Mr Mac’s flash car. The town of Konstanz is a little over an hour away from us so we enjoyed the sunshine and the glamour of convertible driving all the way there & back with the roof down.
The massage was wonderful. My masseuse, a tiny wee Thai lady, instructed me to strip down to my underwear (no bra) and lie on the big wooden bed which had a mattress in the middle with about a six-inch border of bed around it. Never having been for Thai massage before, I didn’t realise what the masseuse needed the extra space around the mattress for, but I soon found out; she knelt beside me to really be able to get in to the muscles and give me a great massage. It was an hour long, great value (50€, from here, if you’re interested) and it won’t be the last time I go.
And enjoyed my favourite light (but alcoholic), German refreshment, a radler– some people might just ask, “Isn’t that just a shandy?” Nut no, it’s not. A real radler is made with lager and a cloudy lemon soft drink (I always refer to the Australian soft drink, Solo) It’s wonderful. The radler, not the Solo. (which is lovely in itself but hardly the star of a show.)
I have to be honest. The pain in my leg is getting the better of me. I’ve spent the last few days feeling completely miserable & sorry for myself.
Big, big sighs all around.
Hah! I wish. He had a lovely day for his birthday. His girlfriend baked him a cake which was so ridiculously sweet he joked, “It’s a diabetes cake. It’s cake and death.”
We took him out for his dinner to our favourite steak house which we’ve been going to since the boys were wee. (I say, “wee,” but really, they were old enough to eat the steak and not leave any for Mum & Dad to polish off, much to our disappointment.) The food was, as always, amazing. James came with us but left earlier to catch a tram to his girlfriend’s house and since we were all so full from steak, none of us wanted dessert. Ewan and his girlfriend left while Mr Mac paid the bill. The staff were surprised when the came to the table and saw it was just the two of us. “Oh, but we were going to bring him dessert and sing to him!” Isn’t that lovely.
“Next time,” we said. So, it’s on for the next birthday.
After dinner we went out for a “proper drink” with the birthday boy. I had a mojito, Ewan had a caipirinha and his girlfriend had a curious blue concoction called a swimming pool. Sadly, the cocktails (certainly mine and Ewan’s) were terrible. As was the attitude of the car staff when she got a paltry tip before we left.
She didn’t ruin the night though. It was fab.
No picture from today. And the worst thing is, I know this was a busy day. Mainly, I went to Physio. Again. And it didn’t give me a miracle cure, again. The boss came in for the consultation. My physiotherapist explained what had been happening, etc, and showed him what we’d been doing so far. They had a talk amongst themselves and the boss took over and started poking and prodding me in the pelvis, while I lifted my leg slightly off the bed. Strangely, I could feel the pain moving with every lift off the bed, from the ankle to the knee. Or was it the other way around? Anyway, the upshot of this consultation was for me to attend more physio, as in twice a week. Once for treatment, when they stick needles in me and once to learn exercises. Ughh.
Can’t they just chop it off?
The boss knew our name and asked me, “Where do you come from?” When I answered Scotland he was delighted. “I’ve met a few Mcs,” he said. “But when I ask them where they come from, it’s usually that their ancestors came from Scotland. I’ve never met a real, live Scottish person with a Mc name before.”
I was sad but felt it important to explain that actually, our Mc is an Irish name. And I got it from my husband, who is Australian. (“My unmarried name is Scottish though, honest!”) (Which I got from my English father. When I was born in England.)
I’ve been feeling so guilty about the garden. Since my leg has been sore, I really haven’t felt much like getting out of bed, never mind getting in the garden and sorting it out. But, after a failed attempt at walking this morning, I decided to give the garden a bit of love. I have a wee stool down there to sit on, when my leg starts giving me grief.
And there was a lot of work to do. Since Mr Mac and I had been down there last, the weeds had grown over again. Not quite as bad as before, thankfully, but enough to keep me busy for a couple of hours. Not only had the weeds grown, everything has greened up and started spreading. I pulled out strawberry plants from just about everywhere. It felt like a terrible shame but if I look at my garden I can see that strawberries grow like weeds. I think there’ll be plenty to pick when the time comes.
My grape vines are coming back to life.
And the goosberries will be ready to be crumbled soon. (as in, baked into a crumble. Yumm!)
And by the looks of things, I’ll have more autumn raspberries than I know what to do with.
Suggestions always welcome.
Not before time. Mr Mac actually asked me before I went to Rome, did I want to get my hair cut and coloured. Of course, I was far too lazy. But, then, you know, your hair starts telling you itself, “For crying out loud, you need a haircut!” So, I made an appointment.
The hairdresser is new; a very young woman but she appears to have her head screwed on properly. I didn’t choose the right colour which is all my own fault, but she gave me a fabulous cut and even knew how to dry it for me. A hairdresser who can tackle curly hair is a precious thing. I hope she stays. Since I’ve been going to that particular hairdresser, I think it’s changed hands about three times. Fingers crossed!
And the result? A happy Stella.
A while ago I asked a Twitter friend if I could knit something for the baby she was expecting. I knitted one little green hoodie and then I started on a red one. At the sleeves stage I put it down and forgot about it. Now the little one is due (actually, overdue) so I hurriedly picked it up again.
I’ve finished the red hoodie now. Just to iron it to make it look pretty and post.
There’s a red kite in that there sky somewhere. Taking advantage of balcony weather before the rain sets in over the next couple of days.