Tuesday 4th June 2019

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Let me just fucking tell you what happened to me last Thursday. Allow me to enrich your lives with my near death experience. Sit tight, it’s an emotional rollercoaster. So, it was a pleasant evening and my fella and I decided to take ourselves out for a walk. We have lived in our current home for two years and realised recently that we’ve done very little exploring of our village. So, fucking foolishly, we opted for a rural walk. Now, this is precisely why I don’t do exercise. The start of the walk was lovely and charming and we wandered through church yards and back gardens until we reached a field. Let me be the first to point out that the public footpath went directly through this field. Not around, safely next to the fencing, but straight through for about half a mile. Whilst ever-so-gracefully dismounting the stile at the mouth of said field, I noticed a rather large group of cattle in the corner and alerted my boyfriend to the fact that, unless they were covered in shaggy ginger hair, safely behind solid fencing or between a brioche bun and topped with cheese and bacon, cows were just not my thing. He urged that they were more scared of me than I was them, and ushered me off the fence and into the field. Or death pit, as I’ll now be referring to it.


Turns out, the cows were not scared of me. It also turns out that they were not cows, and actually 40 fucking huge well-horned bullocks, looking for a play thing. Within moments, they were moving closer towards us and, before we were halfway across the death pit, they had managed to completely flank us, leaving my boyfriend and I power walking towards the gate whilst simultaneously swatting the ever growing herd away and trying not to cry. That’s a lie. I decided, at one point, to stop looking back and, instead, wept silently every time I felt them by my shoulders or snort in my general direction. It was utterly terrifying, and I was convinced that if I started to run, they would then stampede and consequently crush my loved one. So I walked and cried and begged my boyfriend to save me up until the gate was about 30m away. At this point, they were surrounding us so closely, jumping back with each shout from my boyfriend and galloping back towards us, closer still, until I could hear them breathing and almost stopped doing so myself. I made a swift side step and did that funny little run/walk thing until I was at the gate, which I proceeded to flop my entire body over, Olympic high jump style. My boyfriend, thank the good holy lord, was hot on my heels.


It was absolutely awful, and I have never felt fear like it. I had to sit down for 10 minutes afterwards because I was convinced that a heart attack was imminent, and my feet swelled up (probs a combination of terror and shock that I was actually being active). I was awake all night with chronic cow-induced anxiety and I even struggled to enjoy my frittata. So, today’s message to you, my angels, is live for the moment. You truly never know when danger is going to strike and you’ll find yourself dicing with death. Life truly is too short to fuck around, and as far as anyone knows, we only get one shot at it. So live it however YOU want. Oh, and if anyone is up in Bonnie Scotland over this coming weekend and fancies buying me a haggis supper or sharing a prosecco, hit me the hell up. I will be there from Friday until Monday, watching the Spice Girls, eating pizza, drinking and dancing on the tables (probably whilst flopping a tit or two out) with my best girlfriends. Bring it on!

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