Cowgirl Appreciation Blog

Cowgirl rules OK? I can’t believe this woman, I really can’t. There she is, up to her neck in water (literally); cattle perched on the hill peering at the floods; foul Dutch tourists hassling her for vegan meals at all times of day and night; wielding her chainsaw with one hand and dishing out meals on wheels with the other….and what does she do? In the middle of all that chaos she finds the time to send me the most gorgeous bouquet of flowers! Not just any old Interflora bog-standard lilies or the dreaded and despised carnations. No sireee. One girt big hand-tied bunch of stunning non-air-miles blooms from a very fine company called Wiggly Wigglers (http://www.wiggywigglers.co.uk/) who send out seasonal flowers from the English garden (and I suspect, greenhouse!). I couldn’t believe it.

I had been over to South Molton to get my neck cracked. The day before yesterday I woke up with a pain in my upper back, around the scapula. Thought, ‘Damn it, slept funny’ and settled down to work. But it got worse and worse and I have spent the last two nights in a lot of pain and the days in a bit of a Neurofen daze (does anyone else find that Ibuprofen has the effect of a mild narcotic? I haven’t felt like this since trying the wacky baccy waaaaay back). My doctor reckoned I’d trapped a nerve and said, ‘Get thee to an osteopath’.

Sadly my good friend the osteopath has upped sticks and gone. She had the most stunning farm you’ve ever seen – absolutely archetypal children’s book farmyard with fat ducks on duckpond; doves in dovecot; sheepdogs, deerhound and terriers dozing in the sun; horses poking noses over stable doors. The farmhouse was thatched and cobb, low-slung and flagstoned – you stepped inside and time stood still. Many a time she thawed me out by her Aga, pushing a dog off a hairy sofa and sticking a vast brandy in my paw. It was the most perfectly gorgeous farm ever – and she sold it. She was heartbroken but her mother (who owned it) wanted to be closer to her other children so Jo shrugged and obeyed. Mother, it has to be said, was pretty indomitable – still riding in her eighties and mightily hacked off about the hunting ban.

Anyhow (are you still with me?) without Jo I needed another osteopath. So found one that would fit me in at 8.30am. A nice chap – not a patch on Jo (no brandy for starters) and I’m not quite straightened out but better, a bit better. Bombed back, feeling a little bit sorry for myself (absolutely NO reason except that every time I tried to see if anything was coming from the left I yelped in pain). Walked in and there was this huge cardboard box in the hall.
‘What’s that?’ I asked Adrian.
‘No idea.’
Unwrapped it, tore out the note and the biggest, broadest smile spread over my face.
‘It’s from New Zealand! Flowers!’
Adrian looked puzzled and I had to reassure him that cowgirl hadn’t ransacked her garden and sent them over airmail.
‘Crikey,’ he said. ‘They’re lovely. What are they for?’
‘For selling the house and getting ‘our’ house.’
‘But you’ve never met her!’

So? Poor Adrian cannot understand that the fact one has never met one’s fellow bloggers does not make one iota of difference. This site has let me make friends from all over the UK and way, way beyond – right to the other side of the world.

There is rarely a day goes by that I don’t ‘talk’ to cowgirl – via the site or via email…and she’s become a very dear and close friend. Weird, maybe, to many people. But not, I suspect, remotely odd to anyone who has experienced blogging!
So – THANK YOU again my friend. Tonight in Woods, I will raise my glass to you. It’s a pleasure and a deep honour to know you.