Now, the side gate is as tall as the ground floor of the house and climbing over that was no mean feat for little old me, who stands at about 5’1 ½.  The half an inch really does make the difference!!  I threw my bag over the gate first then stepped up onto the lowest ledge on the gate.  The only trouble now was that the next ledge up was just below my shoulder.  There was no way my leg was reaching that height!  I held onto the top of the gate and heaved myself up using just my arm muscles.  Thank god for the dumbbells Rob had given me for Christmas.  I finally got high enough after two attempts to get my foot on to the next ledge.  I swung my other leg over the gate and swiftly realised I was now stuck, straddling the gate with my phone vibrating in my bag on the floor.  It might be Rob, I thought.  I braved it and jumped down onto the ground, forgetting one foot was still on the other side.  Naturally, that foot remained where it was, wedged between two slats in the gate and I hung almost upside down from it, the fall having also wedged my ankle between the slats.  I wriggled my foot as much as I could, holding onto the bottom ledge of the gate with all my might.  My foot finally came free and despite the latch onto the bottom ledge, I fell straight onto the floor, too late even to pick up my phone.  I rummaged in my bag and pulled out my phone to reveal a missed call from Tanya.  She could wait.

I got up very slowly and hobbled around the house to the back door.  Oh dear, I thought as I caught sight of myself in the French windows.  My trouser leg was ripped, my make up had smudged and on closer inspection, my ankle was already beginning to swell.  Although my hair did have the volume I usually spent 40 minutes trying to achieve every morning.  I caught myself fleetingly deciding whether it would be plausible to hang from the gate every morning.  Only for a few minutes or so.  Am I crazy?!  I unlocked the back door and stepped inside.  The boys hadn’t cleared their bowls from breakfast.  I walked around the dining room table to retrieve them and put them in the kitchen sink.  I put the wine away and decided I would very much like a shower.

I walked slowly upstairs, my ankle aching more with each step I took.  Maybe a bath would be better!  Opening the door to the bedroom I slung my bag on the floor and stripped off, tossing my clothes straight into the washing basket.  I picked up my book from my bedside table and stepped into the bathroom to run my bath, silently deciding whether to use my favourite glittery bubble bath or Rob’s Radox Muscle Soothing to help my ankle.  But the bath was already occupied.  By Rob.  And Gerry.