AS I introduce my Mexican wife to this strange new land it’s fair to say there have been a number of funny/bizarre/unpredictable (delete as applicable) moments.
Take earlier today for example.
By now regular readers of this blog will know all about my wife’s affection for South West England’s ‘ponies’.
Not a week passes without her asking: “Can we go and see the ponies…?”
Well, today was one of those days.
We were on our way out to see some friends and were passing a place called Yelverton.
Yelverton is a large village really known for a). having a cracking pub in the form of The Rock; and b). not a lot else.
However, on the outskirts of the village’s centre is an old airfield called ‘Yelverton Aerodrome’.
And it’s here where a large group of ponies live and play.
So as we were driving across the aerodrome it seemed only natural for me to pull over to allow my other half to take yet another photograph of yet another of our hairy friends.
It’s fair to say that this moment was THE moment which all other pony encounters will be judged against from now on.
This was the moment that Jacks properly ‘met’ a pony – up close and personal.
There I was winding down the window allowing her to take the best possible picture when said ‘pony’ caught a glimpse of us, and decided to come and say ‘hello’.
Such was his enthusiasm for the meet-and-greet that he practically got into the car, and – in doing so – scared the shit out of Jacks.
He was either after a cookie, or a quick snog… I’m not sure.
As his long tongue lapped at Jacks’ face I can only imagine what he was thinking.
“I should have mentioned that some of them are quite tame…” I said laughing out loud.
So tame in fact that I think he wanted to come home with us.
Cue bizarre moment as we try to get a full-grown Dartmoor pony out of the car so we can make our escape before he gets other mischievous ideas.
She won’t forget that moment for a while. Doubtless neither will he.
Of course that wasn't the first time since we arrived back in the UK that an animal has made Jacks literally jump out of her skin.
She met a white horse. A normally nice white horse at a friend's farm where I spent much of my childhood.
It suddenly raised it's head... and Jacks' face was a picture (one which I'm so frikkin please I caught on camera)...
Fortunately her encounter with a tame lamb working out better...
I'm not sure whether Jacky is getting used to her surroundings, or whether her surrounds are getting used to Jacky.
A couple of weeks ago a quick hike up Sheepstor (Google it) resulted in Jacks gaining an altogether different view of the locally-famous beauty spot - basically from the damp muddy ground up.
Jacks, like most other girls I know seem to always wear the wrong shoes for the wrong occasion.
This footwear mishap resulted in her slipping down the tor rather than climbing down.
Of course that was after she declared the landscape as "precious".
|On top of the world|
Did she actually fall…?
"Of course not, I was tired from climbing up it..." she said with a smile.
I can’t lie, I also wore the wrong shoes for a trip to the semi-secret bluebell woods in South East Cornwall recently.
There I was taking photographs of the bluebells, trees… and then suddenly the sky, as I went ass over tit.
That was after I took these pictures of our playground.
Anyhow, as I introduce Jacks to these spots around here it’s fair to say it’s re-opened my eyes to this part of the world.
Yes, it rains a lot in England.
Big deal if it makes everything so beautiful.
Sure, I miss San Diego. But not as much as some might think.
My wife is teaching me how great ‘Great’ Britain can be.