Our friends the microholders, who are, it has to be said, far more successful than we are at coaxing milk from goats (up to three pints a day and only severe bruising and mild concussion for their trouble) called round last night and bought two baby Mangalitzas for their Good Life in suburbia. This leaves us with three to bring on for a pig roast and sausage fest later in the year. As this is a tale that features the pigs again the above photo has nothing to with pigs, this is in fact the border between two countries, England, a green a pleasant land (ok a few riots have sullied that image of late) and on the left, Wales, another green and pleasant land where Rock HQ is situated. You can see the bracken which has a firm grip on the bonsai mountain, and currently my bionic arm is painfully swollen, hopefully due to overuse of the new blue strimmer yesterday( hopefully as in I hope the pain is due to me being stupid rather than something sinister going on) when I cleared several acres of the wretched plant on our side, Wales, so that our greedy sheep would have easy access to the lush grass that was growing in the shade.
So it was slightly on the annoying side to find the majority of our sheep this evening had crossed the frontier and were cheerfully munching in the shade and totally ignoring the massive open Savannah created especially for them. The fact that my space age arm had shaken loose a few bolts for their benefit obviously did not pray on their tiny minds and I have to acknowledge that gratefulness is not a trait possessed by Ryelands.