The Winner of the International Scone Competition is…And Pearla and Pearla Take a Fall

The Winner Without a Doubt

We have searched throughout the lands. It’s not been easy. There was a lot of suffering; dry, day old scoans, no cream, very expensive trials and the occassional slit my throat now momentss from Pearla and Pearla.

But a winner has been found. And close to home. We know his scoans were fresh out of the oven because we witnessed them going in. We know that they were holesome and even plant based. Yes a bit of Vegan thrown ino the criteria at the last minute. And they are the BEST because we know they were made with love and passion. So the winner of The International Scone Bakeoff (TISB) is Pat Cody. (Pat, seriously, it was a toss up between your scoans and the Welsh Teacakes, but after many hours of deliberating we decided that Welsh Teacakes aren’t really scoans – lucky for you).

Pearla’s Taken a Fall

Poor Pearla. She’s taken a fall. Taken a fall. It’s interesting, isn’t it, that when one reaches a certain age, defined by society of the time, that one no longer falls, trips, slips or double somersaults into ravines, but ‘takes a fall’. I wonder what that exactly means. When we reach this undefined age, do we have a choice? Hmm, no I won’t take this fall, I’ll take that fall, which fall will I take? Or you are now aged in the eyes of society, so take that, just take it, you have now taken a fall, take it with grace, take it like a man. Anyway, I’m sorry, I digress. Poor Pearla has taken a fall. I hope she won’t mind me sharing. Poor Pearla had only been back just over a week when she was having philosophical thoughts whilst gardening on a steep bank. Her thoughts were wandering along the lines of, is there really a higher being, a universe where we are guided, are our paths mapped for us, you get my drift. She had come to the conclusion that maybe life is random and let’s just muddle along. The very moment she had made this conclusion, the universe decided to teach her a lesson and oopsy, over she goes, rolling down the hill and onto the concrete path, breaking her wrist. Poor Pearla.

And Pearla’s Taken a Fall

And I have taken a fall. I chose the double somersault into the ravine option. One Armed Plastered Pearla and I decided to take a walk into the Pukenui Forest. We chose the 3-4 hour option. I made a bad choice around footware, took the said fall and was followed by poor one armed Pearla, clambering down the rocks to the rescue. (although, truth be told I wasn’t really aware of her plight for a day or two. It was all about ME). As I lay there in a pool slowly turning red, Pearla did a sterling job of assessing the situation, checking the vitals and between the two of us we decided that the only thing broken were my glasses, evidenced by glass embedded into my face. It didn’t occur to me as I was trying to climb out of the ravine, that Pearla would be struggling with her one arm and as she was trying to wave down the rescue helicopter I didn’t think how frightening this all was for her and how scary it was for her that I was totally relying on her. As we were waiting for the helicopter, I asked Pearla if I really needed to go to hospital. Surely I can just go home, I can walk out. No Jules, you need to go to hospital. She took a photo but I told her I didn’t want to see it. It took a long time for the helicopter to find us in the bush and poor Pearla had to hug me to keep me warm and try to guide the rescue team. An angel for sure. Helicopter rotor noise will never be the same. We had spectators. Honestly. I just don’t get how people can openly stand and watch. I didn’t have the will to tell them to f*** off.

Richard was winched down to resuce me and he was so CLEAN that I was worried about getting blood on his spotless kit. Look at the view, look at the view, spreading his arms out wide to indicate the tree top view as I was being winched up. Bless.

The A&E team were amazing and thought we were a right pair when Pearla later walked in with her plaster. You, too! What have you been doing. You are a couple of tough old birds. Tough old birds. Another comment reserved for the ‘aged’ and particularly women. Hmm my mind goes to the Sunday roast. Mum, this is a tough old bird. I’m guessing women move on from being Spring Chickens to Tough Old Birds. I felt I was in no position to lecture about ageist and sexist language. Just shut up Jules, you need those stitches in neatly. The less scarring the better.

We managed to laugh our way through the afternoon whilst waiting for scan results etc. Seems, despite the doctor’s view that I had broken my nose, there are no broken bones. I was lucky that the bangs on my head were largely on my forehead as that is supposed to be the thickest part of the head and that the gash just below my eye from glass wasn’t actually in my eye. When tumbling, I really thought I was going to break my neck. So stitches, grazing and massive bruising is all I have, however, I think it’s going to take a while for both of us to get over the reminder that life is fragile. I will have some excellent facial scars for some time, but come Saturday night, I had decided that I was the luckiest person in the world (to be alive).

The spooky thing is, the night before, as I was watching TV, I had two visitations from a person in a medieval cloak. At first I thought it was the trick of light, but when it happened the 2nd time a few hours later, I knew it wasn’t. Some would say (and have) it was the grim reaper and I have defied death; I wondered if it was an ancestor warning me, but the best answer that we have come up with is that I picked up an ancient pilgrim on the Camino who was hanging around to look after me. Thank-you fellow Pilgrim.