Thursday, 29 September 2011
Wednesday, 28 September 2011
I am in bits tonight, sore after being wrestled into a more human form by our diminutive and ever so friendly osteopath who found several places on my spine and neck that needed rectifying (read snapping back into place) and whilst I feel like a freight train has hit me from behind now I know that thanks to her efforts I can get on with the jobs list rather than grinding to a painful halt.
As she banned all but light duties after being fixed much of the day has been spent enjoying the glorious if somewhat unexpected sunshine. This is apparently going to last until past the weekend and record temperatures are to be set, however I have also heard from two very separate sources that its going to snow in the next three weeks. This also seems highly unlikely but one member of the militia told me in all seriousness that this was going to happen and that his grandfather tells of a November day in 1906 when it was 38 degrees. Again not sure if this is entirely accurate but shows our fascination with the weather.
I went to the opening of the "new" farmers superstore just down the road, well they were giving away bacon sarnies and it would have been rude not to have had one or three. New means refurbished but the trip was productive, not just for the waistline, we got several much needed bargains, and were given two sacks of dog food as a feeding trial for the clan, which was a real bonus as it would have cost £30 for the trial packs, who says theres no such thing as a free lunch. I also finally gave in and have bought wellies and overalls, I have rebelled against the farming fashion, admittedly I have been seen with bailer twine as a belt, but there was no way I was ever going to wear wellies and overalls. This morning after getting two full sets of clothes plastered in mud and losing one of my boots in the mud (again) I saw sense and caved in. Finding a set of overalls that fitted, that was a laugh, at least for Tracey my beautiful and oh so patient wife who watched my struggles to get my manly frame into overalls obviously designed for short backed, long legged, orangutan armed dwarfs.
I did wander round to see the Technohermit and drop off his supper, he was seething as I arrived. Today was the day he was taking delivery of a new TV, a 10 inch battery powered effort. This purchase had been playing on his mind for some time and I have lost the will to live over the detailed discussions held dropping off dinner at the entrance of his cave. The cause of his upset was indeed the TV, or rather the lack of TV. The TV man had ventured up the Bonsai Mountain and had delivered the TV. This then promptly went bang when TV repair man attached the leads to the battery. Quite why a new TV should go bang when powered up is a bit of a mystery. I suspect an exceedingly nervous TV repairman with one eye on Technohermit, the other on the piles of bones at the cave entrance, put positive to negative. That or he made it go bang just to get out sharpish. Anyway Technohermit was seething, hopping from one foot to the other, not over the fact that the TV had gone bang, but because it had no box. Not the carton or packaging type box, no, the box for the TV. He held his hands apart like a fisherman, "TV's have boxes on the back of em like this, not that flat thing, I hates it, it had no box, thats no TV thats just a picture!"
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
There is also a view amongst the horse fraternity that horses and pigs don't get on, in fact they go so far as to say they hate each other. This is not something we agree with at Rock HQ, and if the camera had been to hand today there would have been some pictures of Thor the Boar and Pretty Boy Apollo playing in the Corral OK. Not sure they are what you would call friends, but they seem to be getting on.
PS. Just got back in after the night time prowl of the perimeter and found Thor's bunk occupied by a hopeful Cockerel. A swift eviction put paid to its ideas of grandeur but the rightful owner could not be found. Eventually after struggling up the suicidal mud bank that we consider a field I found piggy grazing alongside Apollo and William. No amount of coaxing would convince him that his nice warm berth several contour lines below was the place to be so I left them to it.
Monday, 26 September 2011
Sunday, 25 September 2011
Saturday, 24 September 2011
Friday, 23 September 2011
Thursday, 22 September 2011
Not having a good week poultry wise, Sally goose, seen here squeezing under the gate was found dead on her bed this morning, age related for a change. DD or Deaths Door crossed the threshold while one of its nest mates jumped into the feed bowl and then couldn't jump out and died of cold. Not the cleverest chick in the brood. The last two have been taken into protective custody and as I type are happily cheeping from the kitchen sat on an electric heat pad.
Wednesday, 21 September 2011
Tristan got a tour of the perimeter today and met Thor the boar. The apprentice smallholder was wrapped up warmly, not because it was cold outside but because the rayburn has committed suicide after trying to gas us again. Steve the SAS rayburn repairman failed to answer the emergency call which meant we were unable to cook our daughters birthday dinner so she consoled herself with the takeaway provided.
Despite trials and tribulations caused by mechanical objects, today has been a very good day, a Red Kite landed in the garden, which was very unusual, but a good sign, as was the Red Kite that flew alongside the car on the way to a really important meeting, and then another one flew over the building we were meeting in. Signs and portents, Red Kites are taking over.
Tuesday, 20 September 2011
I went to a house yesterday surrounded by about 100 apple trees all bursting with fruit and all going to waste. They didn't belong to the occupant of the house and the orchard owner, being a bit doolally and infirm was very particular about who touched her fruit, trod on her grass, breathed her air (you get the idea) so the thought of yours truly trampling over her precious things would have had her reaching for the blood pressure pills and calling the police. So after interviewing the occupant of the house about matters totally unrelated to fruit I made to leave and as a parting shot mentioned the fine pear tree in her part of the garden groaning with effort at keeping the fruit aloft. Taking the hint the householder produced four tiny carrier bags, and soon I had enough to keep my pigs happy come supper time.
Its such a shame so much fruit goes to waste every year. Not that much does on the Bonsai Mountain, not when yours truly "borrows" the unwanted from our neighbours. Its a lean year for apples on our patch, so the pigs have already had all the fruits from our trees save for the ones Hetty has taken, you would be amazed how tall a mid legged Dexter can be in pursuit of apples. This evening I decided to go on a sortie to a neighbour to see if they had any unwanted fruit I could liberate. As its a holiday home we don't often see each other, I think twice in five years to speak to and the occassional wave as I tramp past surrrounded by large canines, so I was sure they wouldn't mind me clearing up the windfalls. As I approached from the Bonsai Mountain path there was a large bag hanging on the gate. The tree looked bare, but the bag was full of apples, with a post it note attached.They know me so well!
Monday, 19 September 2011
This soft lad is getting used to the pace of life at Rock HQ and has taken to having a lie in. This morning, despite repeated alarm calls he failed to appear at the breakfast table so I went to investigate. He was fast asleep on a deep straw bed, nose resting on his trotters, snoring, not a care in the world. When he finally woke up he rolled over for a tummy scratch before he nosed the feed bucket I was holding, found it to his liking and without getting up began breakfast. I plumped his pillows and left the lazy pig to it.
Sunday, 18 September 2011
Having decided to boldly go where no man and Berner had gone before it was fitting that we found something extra ordinary during our exploration of Worzel Wood. The wood is a hill, cone shaped, very steep and changes from deciduous ancient woodland to slash and burn forestry conifers clinging on to the rock strewn slopes.
Spotty took point, Bliss, slightly more timid than an agoraphobic mouse walked to heel. Every now and then Spotty would turn to make sure I had followed rather than hid (I hid once and it took us an hour and five miles to find each other, but that's another tale and we both learned a valuable lesson)and we made our way to the summit. The wide leafy trail petered out into nothing and soon we were walking virgin territory, occasionally we might find evidence of inhabitants of the forest but with two dogs panting like steam trains having coronary problems the chances of seeing anything other than deaf squirrels was remote.
And then something caught our eye, Spotty tried to do the pointer but epic failed, instead he just looked long and hard. Now it has to be said I did have in the back of my mind an idea we might look for some caves that are supposed to be in the wood that were allegedly home to some pre war hermit, but what we were looking at was just a shadow in the trees, a bit different to the rest of them.
Closer inspection confirmed man made shadow and closer still a basha type shelter. I did knock, just in case, Bliss got ready to run, just in case, and Spotty just ran inside, just in case there was any free food. The photo of him is blurry as it was a real snap shot because having seen Blair Witch I know you should always run rather than film things.
Anyway, no one home, much to Bliss's relief. Not sure why it was there, someone must have thought this was the place to be, and you have to be determined to get there. Around a year ago I did see smoke rising from this approximate location but never got round to checking its source. But this camp is less than a year old, some of the broken branches have leaves that are barely dried out. Darkness was now falling and as I know how Blair Witch ended we beat a fairly orderly retreat. We shall return one day soon to see if anything has changed. Mind you we have told Sparky Steve's son roughly where it is ( hes 6 and an apprentice super hero) so by the time we go back I expect to find he's moved in, booby trapped the place and taken whoever built it hostage.
Saturday, 17 September 2011
By sheer chance DD was not crushed by yours truly as he knelt in the hen house searching for expected chick. As I shuffled backwards out of the door (who built this thing, ooh guilty!) my hand brushed against something cold and soggy. More chicken pooh I thought, but checked anyway on the just in case principle. There lay DD. Looking very much as ex chicken. As I laid it on the hen house roof Tracey and I cursed chicken brains and our not having brought it in when half egg. Oh well. Nature is harsh and all that. DD gasped. Only one thing to do with a hypothermic chick at deaths door, to the Rayburn. So DD was put in a pie tray and cooked at 150 for one hour.