Currently we can hardly move. There is enough strength left in my right arm to drink my beer, Tracey is propped up on the sofa with a fanta feeling as tired as I am.
This morning I was Stihl sore, and still sawing, above is just part of what I cut through today. When I was sure I couldn't strike another manly pose with a chainsaw I got on with the rest of our routine which included dragging a bale of hay up to the small horse, Misty, who is getting used to us all. She is so cute, but just like the Pocket Rocket she has heels of steel which the dogs have been on the receiving end of a couple of times.