I've been meaning to get a shot of one of the many cherry trees in bloom at the moment, and when I spotted this one leaning over a fence as Miss 8.10 and I walked to the netball courts on Saturday morning, I whipped out my trusty mobile phone and snapped away. I also have plans of nabbing a branch or two for some macro shots on my DSLR, but it would seem that cherry trees grow a) only in the most inaccessible, dangerous locations, like on perilously steep riverside banks or on the side of State Highway One, where stepping out of the car is akin to playing Russian Roulette or b) growing in actual gardens, with high fences and large dogs with sharp fangs and attitude problems.
Later on, after Miss 8.10's netball game (a close one - they only lost by one! One measly goal!) we did a spot of shopping, which apparently I do much better than Daddy does. A couple of sweatshirts for Missy Longarms and a pair of new trainers later (for me after an unfortunate and extremely silly incident involving melted soles. Handy Home Hint: Do not put your trainers to dry out on top of the grill/vent whojamaflip on your Kent fire) we headed home to find the Other Harf toiling on his hands and knees vacuuming the lounge carpet, which is terminally irresistable to dog hair.
Leaving Mr Mop to it, I began to prepare the dinner (Chicken, Ham and Leek Pie, my contribution for the Pot-Luck dinner we were sharing with friends that night) and Miss 8.10 took off to play with her cousins.
A couple of hours later, Niece G came roaring through the backdoor, blubbering that Miss 8.10 was bleeding and she was really really hurt! As soon as we came running out of the house, I could hear her crying and it was the sort of wailing cry that instantly set my heart racing. She's fallen off a stack of haybales in the shed and hit her head on a set of windows that are being stored there while the Beige Barn is being built, and had a bump the size of a hen's egg on her forehead, a big weepy graze on under her left eye, but most of all, her arm, it hurt, it hurt!
Two hours later (and many thanks to the multicultural staff at White Cross Accident and Emergency - we had a Scottish nurse, an English doctor and a South African radiologist) one broken radius bone was diagnosed and a temporary cast was applied. This isn't the first time she's broken something (she broke both wrists two days after starting primary school) so she was a bit of an expert on the whole procedure.
So today it's been Nursemaid Mummy and Daddy, with lots of Pamol to ease the pain and a great deal of yes'm waitressing ("I'll have a Marmite sandwich with the crusts cut off, a packet of chippies on a plate and an apple all sliced up please, and you can put the DVD on now").
In a week's time it's back for a proper cast (light blue is the plan this time; she had one purple and one neon pink last time) and a check over by the Orthopedic Surgeon.
Now for the next dilemma - how does a left-hander get on writing with the wrong hand for the next four weeks?
Hey Fi, your poor daughter, ouch, let's hope her arm heals quickly. I've seen the cherry trees around, they are lovely, it really feels like spring here and although I like winter, it is nice to have warm sunny days.
You speak of these pies and we never eat anything like them. And I see that this one turned out magnificently so now I really want a pie of this sort to eat.
Sorry for the broken bone. Hope the healing is swift!
Fi, I'm so sorry to hear about Miss 8.10 - I hope she's feeling better soon!