It has been a horrible, horrible couple of months. Yes, Wendy and I, having escaped the much-mediatised 'Covid', both came down with its virulent successor, the Jacinda Ardern flu. And as if that weren't enough, there has been one trouble after another in every department of my life.
Brother John's car exploded in Leicestershire, and when I tried to send him money to buy a replacement, the bank Fraud Squad closed down my account. Twice. The onward going battle against Ms Ardern's agents continued. She has used the former Dun and Bradstreet (private debt collectors) to threaten those who have challenged her illegal charges with expensive lawsuits (at public cost) while she goes off on her 'rainbow tour' ... and that's just the beginning. Coping with the faceless horrors heaped on one - especially the elderly - in the 2020s is terrifying. Getting aid to fight the lying, cheating bastards is either impossible or expensive. 'Officialdom' sends you threats or faits accomplis by email, with a no-reply address and a telephone number. So you ring the telephone number: press this button, that button, 'we are helping (!) somebody else, please hold'. So you hold and hold for 30 minutes until the voice says 'we're not available' and you get cut off. Today I await a parcel by courier from town. Email saying 'we tried to deliver ...'. I rang the parcel's sender. The parcel was awaiting collection from them. Scam. Why? And all this while, suffering from this dreadful flu and its aftermath, I have had two TIAs. It has been too much. I can't cope with 2022.
I called my lawyer and titivated my will. I wondered for how long I would have to not-eat (I have lost 1/10th of my bodyweight) before I went to sleep and didn't wake up. I couldn't write ... so there was pretty well nothing cerebral left in life ... then this week the winds came, and blew over three mature trees, crushing fences and rails .. and the rain, turning our tidy paddocks into a quagmire ... the creek behind my house burst its banks .. Wendy worked on, how she did it, I know not. And, while she did, the kittens kept an eye on me and the strychnine bottle ... and the whisky bottles. They napped quite a bit.
From my bed, I can see the night sky. Glowing moon, and patterns of stars. Russalka, Vetter aus dingda, Lionel Monckton, Don Maclean .. 'Golly', I though 'I could do with a little bit of starlight'.
I mustn't paint a unblemishedly hellish picture of the last months. A little bit of light has shone on us. We were introduced to Heather, who came and started on the cleaning of the Palace of Gerolstein. Oyyyyy! She is now part of the family. But the big boost for our hearts and souls was ... EMILY!
I chronicled the splendid debut of our little filly ...
https://kurtofgerolstein.blogspot.com/2022/05/may-day-debut-of-little-emily.html
before the dreaded lurgie struck us. She followed up with two unlucky runs where she finished just out of the money, and then the real racing season closed and activity shifted to Addington Raceway, which has, these days, appropriated to itself all the 'winter' racing. So masked and woollied up, we headed for town. With rather better luck in the running, she finished a sound third and then ... then came my attack of the lurgie. So I wasn't at the track to see her follow up with another good third place ...
Next time up, she drew the extreme outside, was forced to tail the field, pulled out in the home straight and started her run ... when ... she stopped. Driver Jimmy had lost his steering. Incomprehensible. And still uncomprehended, by everyone. ... Six races with perfect manners then, this. Was she ill? No. She was bouncing round her paddock the next day. Something had to be wrong. But ... well ... try again and see ...
I was at the nadir of my 'recovery' period. And to make things much, much worse, Murray Edmonds, Emily's and our trainer, since forever, had just been taken into hospital with a brain tumor. I didn't feel much like going to the racetrack. But my friend Robin (whose horse had won a few days previously) said 'you have to go, to support Murray and Emily'. So off we set, me glamorously clad in an outfit (!) by Warehouse out of Ohoka Market, to Addington Raceway.
We joined Frank, John and Jan, and Auntie Faye at our 'usual' table by the ground floor bar window. Ground floor is pretty well my limit, and, anyway, in the turmoil, I'd left my walking stick at home. Didn't want to risk going among the horses. So, Wendy and Faye went to visit the wee girl ... while I sipped a warming black beer and gazed at the screens. The tipsters had been pretty lukewarm about Emily, so I wasn't surprised to see her on about the third or fourth line of betting ('multiples option'). But, as I watched, something odd happened. She began to creep up the board until -- good grief -- she was favourite!
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