Last weekend, me and Julie visited Sissinghurst Castle.
OK, if you want to be precise, we didn't go inside - that costs money, since we're not members of The National Trust. The main reason we visited were the grounds (free!) and the fact there was a craft fair taking place that day.
It's also apparently a good place to take your dogs for a walk around the lakes. As you can imagine, I was completely fine with this idea, as it meant I could make a fuss of a steady stream of gorgeous canines. My favourites were a black Labrador and a Jack Russell terrier, both part of the same family. The terrier was living up to its reputation though and was leading his companion astray by taking him off to hunt for rabbits for hours.
But I digress.
The day before, Julie and myself had engaged in some gardening. Unfortunately, neither of us are in peak condition, so all the bending down, kneeling and stretching left us feeling somewhat less than flexible. It wasn't too bad on that evening, but when we got up to have our day out, our backs and legs were definitely showing signs of displeasure.
Nevertheless, the got a picnic together and folded our frames into the car and headed off.
Everything was fine and dandy for the journey there. It was only when we reached the castle and parked up that our problems began. Specifically, trying to get out of the car when our legs were protesting. Julie put it well, but a little confusingly:
Well, that told me.