Lifestyle block owner and community newspapers editor Rachel Wise explores the myths of animal attraction
A black eye, a speeding ticket and the Man Flu. That was a great end to last week.
I also broke a fingernail but in the greater scheme of things, well, that just made it match most of the others.
It seems that my horse, Gladys, has made a unilateral decision to give up showjumping. She could have informed me nicely but no. On Friday she popped us over a jump and failed to catch me on the other side. On Monday she leaped about in the air until I fell off and on Wednesday she stood around on her hind legs until I ...Yes, fell off again. The black eye was from the headbut she gave me just to hurry me on my way.
So I loaded her up on the horsefloat and took her home, where she is standing about in the paddock in disgrace.
In the meantime I have pulled Rikki the Racehorse out of the paddock - much to his shock and horror - dusted him off and dragged the sticks out of his mane and tail and put him to work instead.
That's where the speeding ticket comes in.
With Rikki on the horse-float I was headed off to introduce him to his new place of work and...A policeman pulled me over.
"You were creeping up towards 100kmh," the policeman informed me.
"With a trailer on, you are only allowed to do 90kmh. At the moment we have only a 4kmh tolerance of speeding."
I knew that, having just written an article about the 4kmh tolerance of speeding.
I blame Rikki. Having been a racehorse he probably has a "thing" for speed and was subconsciously urging me on.
The policeman was very nice though. He even asked about my black eye. He was so pleasant about the whole thing that I suspect I even thanked him for the speeding ticket.
Then I broke my fingernail - a real nasty one, right back to the quick. I figured that made three: You know, "bad things come in threes". Black eye, speeding ticket and...I thought if I counted the broken fingernail, that would be my "three" and fate would bugger off and leave me alone for a bit.
Nope. The fingernail didn't count. The third thing struck me as I watched Shortland Street that evening. My throat felt scratchy.
By bedtime it felt more like I'd tried to swallow a ball of barbed wire. I had Man Flu.
I knew it was Man Flu because it was really, really bad.
I staggered in to the chemist the next day and asked if they had something that would cure Man Flu. They said no, but they had cold remedies. Like that was going to help!
I took the cold remedies anyway and have bravely battled on.
The black eye is slowly fading, the fingernail will grow back, but I have yet to pay my speeding fine. I figure they won't arrest me just yet - they won't want to catch my Man Flu.