The day didn't get off the best of starts as being short of a heavy duty crane necessary to lift a barmy bovine who singularly lacked the motivation required to jump back over the fence she so nimbly cleared in the midnight hours I had to take the bolt cutters to the wire and make an impromptu gate. Hetty deigned to use it and spent the rest of the day catching up on missed calories.
Hetty's antic was not the only fly in the ointment of my day. A low point had to be walking the lane with the flock of Ryelands milling around me all desperate to gain access to the bucket of feed being used as a lure. My cunning plan was to tempt them on to the lush pasture belonging to the ghost house, a small plot of very tempting greenery that just goes to waste. Progress was halted by me falling face down in the gravel,the appearance of my bionic left arm and knees were dramatically altered by a sudden outbreak of gravel rash, the bucket prevented my face suffering the same. The Ryelands overwhelmed with sympathy seized the chance to liberate the feed and I left them too it sneaking off for tea and sympathy at Rock HQ cursing my boots the cause of my downfall, the metal lace hooks clipped together as I stepped forward and whammo! Pain city.
It being a very pleasant bank holiday we went to the local village show, our intention to enter some of our star Berners in the dog show thwarted by their lifestyle and addiction to rolling in fox pooh. Instead we resupplied the plant stock, obviously flush with success at having had a herb garden survive nearly a week we felt confident enough to buy a dozen strawberry plants, some courgettes and even more herbs. The show was its usual mix, stalls selling traditional country items such as DVD's, CD's and crisps alongside others selling new fangled ideas that will never catch on, like home made jam, cakes and country crafts such as hand spun wool. There was lots to see, proud parents watched their sprogs get tangled up in the Maypole, and I got to see our next must have, a nice pony trap/gig/cart. So much more fun than a quad bike and so much less controllable.
Tristan enjoyed the day, I don't think he was too impressed with the Wild West element of the show, how a fat bloke dressed in black staggering around getting himself tangled up in his lasso while addressing the ever decreasing crowd with a dodgy American accent could be classed as entertainment is beyond me, more to the point, how he manages to peddle his "show" around the country for money is an even bigger surprise than finding yourself face down in the gravel and only marginally less painful.
Luckily Tristan was not of a level of understanding of the term cool, or fashionable, so did not object to his temporary sun hat.
Hetty's antic was not the only fly in the ointment of my day. A low point had to be walking the lane with the flock of Ryelands milling around me all desperate to gain access to the bucket of feed being used as a lure. My cunning plan was to tempt them on to the lush pasture belonging to the ghost house, a small plot of very tempting greenery that just goes to waste. Progress was halted by me falling face down in the gravel,the appearance of my bionic left arm and knees were dramatically altered by a sudden outbreak of gravel rash, the bucket prevented my face suffering the same. The Ryelands overwhelmed with sympathy seized the chance to liberate the feed and I left them too it sneaking off for tea and sympathy at Rock HQ cursing my boots the cause of my downfall, the metal lace hooks clipped together as I stepped forward and whammo! Pain city.
It being a very pleasant bank holiday we went to the local village show, our intention to enter some of our star Berners in the dog show thwarted by their lifestyle and addiction to rolling in fox pooh. Instead we resupplied the plant stock, obviously flush with success at having had a herb garden survive nearly a week we felt confident enough to buy a dozen strawberry plants, some courgettes and even more herbs. The show was its usual mix, stalls selling traditional country items such as DVD's, CD's and crisps alongside others selling new fangled ideas that will never catch on, like home made jam, cakes and country crafts such as hand spun wool. There was lots to see, proud parents watched their sprogs get tangled up in the Maypole, and I got to see our next must have, a nice pony trap/gig/cart. So much more fun than a quad bike and so much less controllable.
Tristan enjoyed the day, I don't think he was too impressed with the Wild West element of the show, how a fat bloke dressed in black staggering around getting himself tangled up in his lasso while addressing the ever decreasing crowd with a dodgy American accent could be classed as entertainment is beyond me, more to the point, how he manages to peddle his "show" around the country for money is an even bigger surprise than finding yourself face down in the gravel and only marginally less painful.
Luckily Tristan was not of a level of understanding of the term cool, or fashionable, so did not object to his temporary sun hat.
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