So I was having a lovely ride this afternoon, the sun in my eyes and the wind in my hair (it being too gusty for the hat), and nothing to detain me but a herd of cows being brought in to calve, and even then I just hung around and chatted with the cow man about his sciatica while the cows decided whether or not they would be brave enough to go past the Scary Bike Thing.
Resuming my journey, I saw a tractor which very patiently waited for me to go past before pulling out of a field and joining in my wake in an impromptu rural procession (it must be a novelty for a tractor driver to be at the back). All would have been well, had a mischeivous gust of wind not snatched my glasses off my face and right across the road, forcing me to come to a stop so I could retrieve them – and even then all might have been well had the tractor driver, being a very courteous young man, not decided to pass me very politely, giving me loads of room, by going right up onto the verge, the very verge on which my glasses had come to rest.
The other half has long wondered (sometimes out loud) what it would take for me to actually go and replace my glasses, rather than just blogging about it and then swearing at them every time they fall off my face. He got his answer today.
Actually, for something that has been run over by a tractor, they look remarkably chipper. I can only hope that I would fare so well.