Cool sands, warm water

The plan;

Walkies in the soft sand at the beach... it's supposed to be good for rehabilitation of a sprained ankle. Mainly because you can't limp and the foot is all over the place as you try and maintain balance.

The execution:

He parks meters from the stairs, which one can manage due to the nifty inclusion of a handrail, and guides one to the soft slope to the beach. Which with the amount of mobility one has to negotiate such a drop, could have been the Cliffs of Dover. So one gets to walk to the stairs... not so great for ankles for the record L

The outcome;

Negotiating soft sand is great for making the foot work... and it is a bit of rehab designed by a sadist who has never had a sprained ankle. Not to mention one actually has to touch soft sand with bare feet... it gets between your toes and has to be up there with splodging as a sensation... eww. So after struggling along for a few meters and back, at a slow crawl that left one as puffed as a marathon runner, we got back in the car and drove to breakfast.

From there on in the day took on its usual looking glass quality... do stop now if you are squeamish.

We are parked on chairs, while the ankle swelled up to an impressive size as a way of thank you for the exercise, and He turns and says, with that particular gleam in his eyes, when we get home we can have a quick shower and... Quick as a flash one leaped in and hazarded start tidying up before the guests arrive tomorrow? How bad can it be he asked it was only done last week? Blinking in disbelief one asked have you looked? Well no more than normal He replied (which is code for not at all). Rolling the eyes one started making a quick list and calculating the physical ability, in an endeavour to make a list of the essentials.

Taking one look at the face He says and this is why I'm in charge; the ability to prioritise and put the important things first. Sty was the first word that blurted out of one's mouth. Yes, but you would be too blissed out to care He retorted. That or blindfolded so you couldn't see. Either way would work He finished up, looking smug.

It was after the last load of dishes were done, 'cos rather like the sandwich fairy, the dish fairy hadn't mysteriously presented itself over the last couple of days either, one plopped down to do a manicure. It was at the critical stage when the bladder insisted it was in charge. Now one of the great joys of having an owner who like water sports is that you can say would you mind giving one a hand? Following one into the bathroom He started to divest himself of his clothes, which made one squeak in protest. All He had to do was pull down one's pants and pat things dry afterwards.

Really you need to stop reading here...

Of course it wasn't that simple with Him in charge. Oh no. He decided it might be fun to see if he could get the notorious lack of aim to improve. You know when people are yammering on about slave training one just bets that this isn't the stuff they have in mind. For the record He can get better aim, but he is lousy at the pat down. And one did explain the idea was to pat with the paper... not rub... repeatedly.

For the record though, should any of you find yourself in the position of needing this kind of assistance... it makes you feel like a child; a slightly resentful child. And it doesn't help if someone is playing water cannons with your plumbing. Honestly it is so hard to get good help these days... it's like they try to be difficult... or something...