As noted by commenter Lynn, the Yorkshire Vet is back! Last week I got to watch it IN YORKSHIRE, about 20 miles from Thirsk, where it is filmed, which was extra delightful. F, with whom I was on holiday looking at shrivelled saints' fingers, was in a BnB in York. She is American and had been (of course, who wouldn't be) keen to watch Julian castrating something whilst in the UK, but because there is no phone reception up in the Dales I couldn't text her to tell her to watch and was in agonies of frustration. Thankfully, as we drove into phone coverage the next morning I was delighted to be inundated by texts from her:
Whilst we were on holiday, F was reading James Herriot's son's biography of his father, so it was even more fitting (though I sort of wish she hadn't been because she kept reading me extracts about his anal fistula and now I will never be able to disassociate James Herriot and anal fistula).
Anyway, I watched last night's here, which was less atmospheric but still joyful. Things that happened:
- Julian's waterproof trousers got caught in the calving jack
- Emily the hen had to have her crop emptied of "pearl barley and rocket"
- A calf had to have its intestines put back
- A retired point-to-pointer had its teeth done
- An obese rat was put on a diet
- An elderly blind labrador ate a silicone spatula
I got a brilliant and very persuasive email about the wonders of magnesium this week. French pharmacies worship at the shrine of magnesium and I have always been curious as to what exactly it does that is so miraculous. My correspondent is sure that it will sort out my various pathetic aches and crockednesses and also described it as "the great relaxer". I mean, who doesn't want something called "the great relaxer"?? NO ONE. I have ordered some of the Special Kind recommended and am waiting for it to arrive and revolutionise my entire life. M thinks this falls into the same category as crystals and is very scornful. We shall see.
Death to the dentist (even though he is quiet and gentle and nice)
I have just returned from the dentist. 140 of my finest euros to have my tongue put to sleep, a hole drilled in my face, a visit from the hook of buccal torment and a 30 minute sandblasting with Jérémie's finest minty dust. It is a terrible way to spend a morning and also to spend €140, so I feel I should get a free pass from adulting for the remainder of the day. Instead I am accompanying my child to Chinese in the rain and am about to attempt some soup even though it is almost certainly too soon.
Look, this is my lunch, with accompanying Card of Frustration from the postman. There's linseed dust in it! I don't think my numb face is going to deal well with those spinach fronds! This is no way to live.
Is this better?
No, I didn't think so.
Thank fuck for Bake Off night.
10% Waiting to drink gin in cashmere bedsocks circa 6pm