Costa del Cardiff is no more

It’s been raining for seven days and will rain another seven more. Even my waterproof trousers have run away. Driven away actually, in a truck, along with my bike helmet, yet to be returned. I hadn’t realised how much I relied on, and treasured, having dry legs until my trousers were gone and I was stood frozen in the doorway, unable to step out without my trusty steeds. Oh how I love you, you and your shoe covers. I’ve been filming a TV series in various castles around the south west, and trying to avoid driving to location at all costs, for a few reasons, but mainly because driving is SO BORING. So I cycled to Castle Coch to don my peasant uniform once again, in the pouring rain. I might add production originally wanted me as a Lady in Waiting to the Queen, then decided I should be a Wet Nurse to her children and eventually settled on Scottish Peasant. At my costume fitting they were talking about how rowdy it would be in the bar where I’d be working but that I wouldn’t need to show any skin. Huh? ‘Oh did you not know you’re playing a Bar Wench?’ Hmmm. Not sure how to take this. Is that another demotion?! I think it suits me better anyway. It means I can sit on the floor if I want to or take naps on the straw bails and no one cares, it adds to the look I reckon.

I’m living my peasant role at home too. We now have three ex-battery farm pet chickens which has really helped my procrastination and taken it to new heights. Maybe there should be a competition? We’ve named them Hilary, Amelia Earhart and Gail Porter. It took them a couple of weeks to pluck up the courage to venture to the far side of the garden, but only if someone was out there with them. After a month they still squawk and run back to their house when they hear a seagull overhead, just like people when they have chips or a pasty at the seaside, it’s quite funny to witness. As their feathers grow back they’re looking fluffier and a little less Jurassic, tip toeing around the garden. I really want to let them in the house but I don’t think people would appreciate the winter draft or the chicken poo (which really stinks by the way). Their arrival is perfectly timed to prevent the winter blues and my own hibernation. They get me up in the morning, even on a hangover. They wait in the window of their house and start clucking with excitement as soon as they here you coming, it’s very cute. Gail is the only one that seems to know her name and you just have to point and she knows there’s food there. It makes for a nice break from work to go out and see what they’re up to and have a little chat. I’m a little concerned I’ll become one of these pet obsessed people and create an Instagram account just for my chickens. Watch this space.

After the exciting but disappointing Rugby World Cup, myself and two of the boys wanted to go for a walk in the rain, befitting the mood. We decided on a coastal walk; Penarth Pier to a lovely pub in Sully. I was going to use my long riding boots as wellies but went for my short yard boots thinking they would be more practical to walk in. What a fool I was. None of us could have foreseen that the path wouldn’t be a path at all, but a river with waterfalls fully formed on both sides; field – path – beach. My Mountain Horse boots actually stayed dry for a lot longer than I expected. I thought one step in the path river would render my feet soggy and cold for the rest of the trek but I reckon we got three quarters of the way, just before the climb down the staircase waterfall to the beach before I felt the unmistakable ‘eugh’, of water through sock. The walk back in the near darkness had us going at a fast pace; to avoid falling down deadly waterfall holes, to dry off, and to get back in time to eat and dress up for the Prom themed Halloween party that night. I went as Spike and attempted to cut a blonde mullet wig into a passable look but it didn’t work one iota. So I got my housemate to tattoo ‘Buffy’ onto my neck with a love heart around it so people would know who I was. If you didn’t know who I meant before you read ‘Buffy’ just now, you had a terrible childhood.

On that note, I’ll be off.

I should mention that my brother was crowned Prom King as Teen Wolf. One of his proudest moments and biggest achievement.

Cluck cluck,

Sarah

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