I had kinky bondage sex with Margaret Thatcher?

It feels as thought it’s been a very selfish weekend. I’ve spent some of it dozing on the couch, some of it watching junk television and a hell of a lot of it up at the stables playing with the ponies.

Vin saw the back specialist today; you’ll probably remember I’ve had doubts about his fitness for a few weeks.

I was right to have doubts. The diagnosis is that he’s damaged a ligament in his off-side sacroiliac joint.

The prognosis for recovery is total, but he has to be very carefully managed for the next 4-6 weeks.

The regime we have to follow is box rest, broken up by going on the walker twice a day, and careful, structured long, low and loose exercise in walk.

The Back Doctor said he’d probably damaged himself having a hoolie out in the fields – and that’s remarkably Vin-like behaviour.

Fortunately Vin *likes* staying in, but balancing his exercise requirements with giving him sufficient brain-food and not overdoing things is going to be one hell of a challenge. For me!

Tom’s had a busy time, until the snow in the fields has melted sufficiently he can’t be turned out, so I’m working him every day to keep him sane.

We jumped the other day and have done flatwork the rest of the week. Tom is proving to be a total star.

I am so thankful we have an indoor arena!

Soph worked yesterday and went on a girl’s day out today with, amongst others, pigeon girl.

Is this why I feel I’ve had a selfish weekend, because she hasn’t been around very much?

We clung to each other all night while we were asleep last night, although I have been admonished, in a good-natured way, for poking Soph with something long and hard all through the night.

No, I don’t know what it was either. She could have been dreaming, of course. Or having nightmares.

Is that a good sign, I wonder?

The mutual clinging thing, not the poking up the backside all night long with a hard thing, thing.

Because we do, without conscious thought, sometimes we’ll cling to each other all through the night. We’ll know we’ve been doing it when we awake, but there’s no design to it.

Anyway.

Whatever the source of the hardness I was allegedly poking her with all night, I’m pretty sure it had nothing to do with kinky bondage sex or Margaret Thatcher. And I had no memory of such things this morning. But it is possible to dream and not remember the subject upon waking.

So who knows, I could have had kinky bondage sex with Margaret Thatcher.

But it just doesn’t seem right to me.

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