By: Blonde Two
This weekend has been a Two Blondes weekend off from training, expeditions and rescue dramas. I am not sure what Blonde One was up to apart from the fact that she, like me started the weekend with a glass of wine (cheers!)
Once chores and homework were done, I spent a good amount of both days cosy and warm on my lovely white sofa. I haven’t exactly been lazy, I have been planning walks, writing book bits (watch out for a Two Blondes book in the future) and sorting out a Jelly Baby web page (like you do). This sofa holiday has given me lots of time to think back to a conversation Blonde One and I had in the car on the way to our rescue on Wednesday night.
For the purposes of fairness, I should point out that Blonde One is younger than me and that we are in disagreement about what exactly constitutes middle age. Having denied this label for the last few years, I finally gave in on my last birthday when I became two years older overnight (this was due to me getting my age wrong by minus a year for the whole of 2012).
Anyway, we were driving down to South Brent and the phrase “What on earth are we doing?” was taking up a lot of the conversation until I suggested that we were slap bang in the middle of a middle aged crisis and that running around Dartmoor in the dark was our alternative to dying our hair purple and wearing Doc Martens. We haven’t agreed on this matter yet but I am fairly convinced and have put together my own list of middle age indicators – see if you suffer from any of these and let me know if you have any of your own: