Australia Day, one to remember.

Given that I am currently living in the middle of absolute nowhere and pretty much confined to the farm most days, it's safe to say that I wasn't expecting much in the way of entertainment on Australia Day.

We'd had a busy day, riding over 25 ponies in sweltering temperatures. I also managed to add another injury to my now battered hands. A horse I was leading in a set pulled back suddenly - taking the rope and a healthy layer of flesh from between my thumb and forefinger with it. On the flipside, at least now I know I can ride and lead four horses one handed should the need ever arise.

Then the Polo Player announced that we were going to a pub, 50 minutes drive away, close to the Posh Polo Club where he sometimes plays. "Woohoo" thought I, grasping the opportunity to wear something other than my now absolutely filthy jeans and a top that isn't covered in an orange layer of dust. I'd meet other grooms and players and with any luck, get completely smashed.

On went a splattering of make up, mostly unused since my arrival, and a splosh of perfume. Off we went to the pub and down went my first pint. It was then that my old friend made an appearance.

I've suffered with migraines since I was little; usually following a day of excitement or stress, a lot of sunshine, and where I've had limited or sweet things to eat and not enough water during the day. Thankfully, what used to be a weekly occurrence became a monthly, then yearly one as I got older. Although now, warning bells still begin to ring when a small headache becomes an all encompassing, "the light, the light, I can't stand the light" clamp around your head which no paracetamol will touch with a bargepole. And that, ladies, gents and fellow sufferers, is what happened last night.

And so it was that my Australia Day celebrations consisted of me, lying across the back seat of the Polo Player's car, fighting off waves of nausea and the stigma attached to saying 'No, I can't have that shot of tequila, I've got a really bad headache' to a group of fired up drunks. Newsflash: a migraine isn't just something bored wives say to their husbands.

Although I think when I went deathly pale, started crying from the pain and then threw up on the way home, that anyone doubting the extent of my illness got the message.

Migraines: Taking Jo down since 1984. Hurrah.



*The picture above is of a 'willy-willy' or a dust devil, a tornado style whirlwind which rips through the farm at least once a day. Today's willy-willy was about 10 times the size and ferocity of the one in the photo. It ploughed through me and a load of horses being led up the track, scattering them, picking up and spitting out buckets, dust and debris as it went. Pretty cool in a 'please don't kill me' sort of way.