Last year our local church decided to hold a September Harvest Fair on the church green.   We strolled along with the dogs to add our support to this new venture and to see what was doing, and it was quite fun - there were second hand books, there were homegrown veggies, there were plants and bric-a-brac and hand-crafted cards … and there were a few trade stalls selling honey, home-made fudge, and hot food.

Now, one of the hot food vendors was a local butcher, who with great business sense, had set up a barbecue and was selling his own produce - including venison burgers.  Sadly, we’d just eaten our midday meal, but the dogs’ eyes were nearly popping out of their heads and I was afraid they might actually choke on their own drool, so we bought a burger without onions and fed it to them.  And, needless to say, they enjoyed the experience immensely.

Today was this year’s Harvest Fair and once again, we decided to go along and take the dogs with us.  Almost as soon as we left the house, the dogs’ noses tilted upward and their pace quickened.  For once, they didn’t complain about heading into the village instead of over the fields.  They followed their noses right along the road, round the corner and behind the church, hardly bothering to stop and pee.  Did they remember?  I don’t know, but they don’t smell venison cooking that often!

So the dogs got their burger, and I’m willing to bet that next year they will know for sure that ‘Harvest Fair’ means ‘venison’.

It was a good afternoon - there was a display of vintage farm machinery and classic cars, and there was live music with a collection for the local Sue Ryder home, and a lot of village people were out there spending money and enjoying the sunshine.

People began drifting away from the festivities.  Among them, there was a family group.  There was a little girl of about three years old, her mother, three men, and her grandmother, who looked to be somewhere in her seventies.  Suddenly, the little girl broke away and started running along the pavement.  Her mother called out for her to stop, and her grandmother - who happened to be nearest - began to run after her, looking precarious in her smart shoes.   Little girl’s face lit up and she picked up the pace.  Granny started to fall behind, but ran gamely on.  Mum yelled again, and Little Girl ran faster, beaming from ear to ear.  Little Girl disappeared round the bend and Granny tottered after her - and Mum decided perhaps she should start running too.  Oh, well … better late than never!

But the interesting thing was that the three men in the group - none of whom could have been much past thirty-five - didn’t even bother to stop chatting, let alone give chase! I’d guess that any one of those trainer-clad guys could have caught that Little Girl without breaking a sweat, but instead they let poor Granny get her first cardio work-out in years!

Ah, well.  We mustn’t be too hard on them.  They were probably just too full of venison burger.

We went shopping for a few essentials today.

Strolling past the cereals aisle I asked OH if there was anything we needed.

OH: I don’t think so … I think we have enough cornflakes to last over the weekend.

Me: You sure?

OH: Yeah, we have enough.  They’ve gone a bit soft, that’s all.

Me: Well, pop them in the oven for a bit!

OH: Nnngehh.  I don’t want to do that.

Me: Why not?

OH: They’ll go hard.

Me: No, they won’t!  Not if you don’t leave them in too long!

*Three second silence*

OH:  Anyway … the box might catch fire.

You know, I’m convinced people come to Sainsbury’s at the same time as us just for the entertainment value.  They always seem to bring their kids, too - keeps them amused I guess.

It would explain why the damn place is always heaving when we get there.

I just ate lunch. Pretty ordinary thing to do, huh? Except that it went like this:

Me, talking to me: I’m hungry - what can I have?

Me: How about potato cakes?

Me: Good idea!

Me: Oh no … they’ve got green spots on, despite being dated tomorrow!!

Me (absent-mindedly nibbling on a handful of the Food Doctor’s original seed mix): Can’t eat those, then.

Me: Nope, have to think of something else.

Me: (opening drawer to reveal secret cache of Cadbury’s chocolate buttons and stuffing some into mouth): How about cheese on toast?

Me: I’m not supposed to be eating bread, remember?

Me: (feeding a few short lengths of liquorice - found in drawer alongside chocolate buttons - into mouth): So what?

Me: Oh well, this will have to do.

*Stuffs food under grill*

A short while later …

Me: Do these sardines taste funny to you?

See, I’ve always had this problem. When I’m depressed, I eat. If the right food isn’t immediately available, I eat the wrong food and I eat plenty of it.

So you want to know the end of that sentence up there in the title? Alrighty then. Take a deep breath, it’s a long one:

‘You know you’re depressed when you refuse the chance to watch a Johnny Depp movie on the grounds that you can’t eat and watch him at the same time, and you have a date with a large bowl of triple chocolate ice cream mixed with coffee ice cream, with chocolate buttons sprinkled on top, three Cornish wafers on the side, and a hot chocolate chaser.’

Remember Crotchety Old Man’s post about ‘Questions from the ladies’? Remember my answer to it? Remember how Yellow Swordfish took exception to something I said (can’t think why) and came along making pithy comments?

Yesterday started out well. I got up early, took the dogs out, dressed the Princess in her finery and took her to her therapy appointment, and drove happily back for lunch. I was looking forward to the afternoon, because we had another riding lesson booked at the Western stable, and I do so love riding Western style.

I’m trying to eat healthy food. I gained a bit of weight on holiday, and I’m desperately trying to lose it again - without a huge amount of success, I have to say. So, I prepared myself a bowl of fresh fruit, followed by a bowl of soup, and I sat down and tucked in. Fresh pineapple! Mmm! Fresh strawberries and blackberries! Mmm! The pineapple made my throat tingle a bit, but hey, it was a little sore yesterday and pineapple is acid, so I didn’t worry too much about that. Soup next. Three bean and lentil! Mmm ….

But wait! What is this unsettled, churning feeling in my stomach? Hmm. Maybe I didn’t need all that soup. I stopped eating, took my dishes out to the kitchen and called out to OH that I was going upstairs to change ready for riding.

Next thing I know I have my head down the loo* and I’m throwing up for England.

I thought I was going to die. I had visions of myself on a gurney, being wheeled through A&E** on the way to get drips inserted to rehydrate me only to discover that I had botulism and it was All Futile.

OH appeared, alerted by the groaning and swearing, probably. He offered to call a doctor or an ambulance - that’s how bad I was, and he is a Jolly Nice Chap, as I keep telling you. I said ‘Just bring me a bucket, I need to lie down’. And that’s where I stayed for the next hour or so, face down on the bed, with my head in the bucket (a change of view is always nice), alternately sipping water and throwing it up again.

Eventually it stopped, of course, as these things do, and I realised that I probably wasn’t going to die. Not this time, anyway. Eventually, when I stood up, nothing much happened except a slight dizziness, and I was able to change into nightwear and drift off to sleep.

Other Half was a trooper, he really was. He rang to cancel the lesson, he brought me water and a cold, wet flannel*** without being asked, he left me to sleep and even emptied and rinsed out the bucket.

When I staggered downstairs, he made me a cup of tea, and kept checking to make sure I was OK and didn’t need anything. He even offered to go to the shop at 8pm to fetch me anything I might fancy. Luckily, we already had all I needed: Heinz Cream of Tomato soup and bread for toast. Not, I hasten to add, the travesty that passes for tomato soup in America - that would Not have been Good. The stuff tastes like ketchup! No, Heinz Cream of Tomato with toast is the thing to eat after throwing up, and there’s science to back me up, too. It’s full of salts, the main one you need being potassium. It tastes good and it makes you feel better .. as long as you don’t overdo it.

And so it was that as I sat feebly huddled in my chair, OH brought me a large dinner plate on which reposed a perfectly heated bowl of Heinz’s best, and four perfectly toasted triangles of hot toast. I wish I’d taken a picture, it looked so pretty! He even provided me with a piece of kitchen paper to use as a napkin!

So I just want to say that despite my occasional digs and smart comments about men in general, and mine in particular, I do have one of the best. Please give the man a round of applause. For those of you who have men who need a little help in becoming more like him, I’m sure he’ll be willing to provide online lessons (for a fee). You can find him over at Yellowswordfish. Tee hee. That should put his traffic up a bit.

Why do I blame the pineapple you ask? Because I ate some of the strawberries, the blackberries and the soup yesterday with no ill effects. Methinks a trip to the Public Health inspector might be in order. Someone should Suffer for This.

Oh, and by the way, can anyone explain to me how the hell I came to gain two pounds yesterday? Sheesh …

* English slang for toilet

** English for ER

*** English for washcloth