Life in the freezer

Christ it's been cold here; it was minus 11 the other morning when I took Bar-Os to the paddock. There's been no let up with the weather and although it hasn't snowed for a few days, the extreme cold has prevented the existing snow from melting and it's become extremely compact and slippery under foot. I have a self-filling water trough in the paddock, but it's been frozen solid for several days, so I have to take hot water down to the paddock in milk cartons to top up the ever freezing, temporary water bucket. For the first few days, Bar-Os was able to nuzzle the snow out the way to find himself some grass, but I'm now having to take hay down to the field, along with a buckets full of chaff and carrots to keep my boy's boiler stoked up.

All of this toing and froing has to be on foot because the lane leading to the paddock is snowed under. I resemble a sumo wrestler waddling through the village, what with all the layers of clothing - long sleeve tee shirt, shaggy fleece top, topped with another shaggy fleece top, topped with a fleece lined jacket, scarf, ski hat, thick gloves and a pair of Caterpillar fleece lined boots (steel toe caps and 'tractor tread' soles - what a sex goddess!). To think, I live in one of the most temperate parts of the Country, allegedly!

Bar-Os is a 'native breed' - made for withstanding the bitter cold, except no-one has told him that and he stands in the middle of the paddock squealing loudly at the sheer woefulness of it all. Wouldn't be quite so bad, but he's turned out in a thick winter rug and downs enough nourishing food to sink a battle ship. And he comes home at night to a stable full of soft, dry bedding and 4* room service. All of my horsey friends are fretting at how their horses have lost weight during the cold spell - Bar-Os is positively barrelesque; he swears this is an optical illusion and that the roundness effect is down to his fur standing on end. I'm not convinced.

My plan was to go Christmas shopping this week, but I've succumbed to the lure of the internet again and optimistically await the delivery of the cyber-prezzies. Somehow my cyber travels took a wrong turn and I have, for some unknown reason, taken delivery of a very nice Karen Millen coat? With my grunge lifestyle, God knows when I'll get a chance to wear it, but I convinced myself that it would be ideal for pupillage interviews (ever the optimist eh) and it was VASTLY reduced in the sale.

My Aunt died a few weeks back and I have spent much of today thinking about her. She moved to America many years ago, as did the rest of my Dad's family, but she would periodically come home to visit. As a kid I thought she was wonderful and glamorous. America was made for my Aunt - she was all boobs, belly and bum, and lived life in the fast lane, on credit cards for most of the time. I remember how expensive international phone calls were years ago, and what a carefully planned operation the Christmas day call to America would be. My parents would be working out what time it would be 'over there' and would time their call so as not to interfere with my Aunt's Christmas dinner. In recent years it has become so much easier and cheaper to keep in touch, and Dad would phone periodically to chat with his big sis. My Aunt had kept a secret from Dad, she had bowel cancer which had later spread to her bones. The last time Dad spoke to her, she had lost her appetite and was too weak to stand, but asked Dad to tell her daughter how to make beef stew and Yorkshire pudding. My Aunt died later that day, before she had a chance to savour some good old British grub. She had been an ardent supporter of native Indian rights and has been buried in a Red Indian reservation called Monkey Island. I'll miss her this Christmas.

Anyway, that's enough woe. I have applied for a couple of jobs. One is a conventional pupillage at the employed Bar, the other is a legal, public sector role with progressive training. The latter sounds an interesting job, with much of the work involving contentious property related litigation and regulatory enforcement. There are a few other pupillages that I shall be applying for in the New Year and I eagerly await filling in those lovely application forms:-(  A while back I applied for a mini-pupillage via email, following the consumption of (far) too much red wine. Much to my surprise and angst, I was successful in gaining a mini and spent the week dreading one of the barristers asking me an email related to question, to which I had no recollection penning whatsoever! Perhaps that is the winning formula and I should do all forthcoming applications post piss-up?