Tuesday, 31 January 2012
Monday, 30 January 2012
Sunday, 29 January 2012
Saturday, 28 January 2012
After much grunting Steve took the tyre down town. An hour later I collected a newly booted alloy and given the post mortem results of the broken rubber, it had burst due to an impact on the tyre wall. That would be like a pothole type impact I enquired. Just like agreed Steve. Just like the swimming pool depth ones you have in your lane.
Carriageway repairs have now been added to the jobs list.
Friday, 27 January 2012
Pedro, a very handsome fellow, was going to be a show sheep until he lost half an ear in a fight over breakfast with a belligerent Mangalitza.
And Berry who wins the cute stakes.
Thursday, 26 January 2012
Wednesday, 25 January 2012
Tuesday, 24 January 2012
Monday, 23 January 2012
Sunday, 22 January 2012
He did stay long enough to get really filthy, and I do mean in the physical coated in mud sense. He seemed to enjoy this, shaking himself like a dog and then rolling around again, perhaps its the pork equivalent of a cold shower, whatever it was he rendered himself unapproachable by any creature with a sense of smell. Finally, happy with his new look he bade farewell to Bridget and climbed the fence.
Pausing only to steal some of the Ryelands second breakfast he set off to bother the horses, investigate Kayleigh, bother Hetty and rub as much mud over as many surfaces as possible. Happy his work was done he slunk off back to med bay where he gathered his straw in a pile and fell asleep. Nice work if you can get it.
Saturday, 21 January 2012
Friday, 20 January 2012
Vic delivered me safely to all four of my visits and suddenly I was in a land of cream carpets and no mud. Except the mud I brought with me. Vic is coated in the stuff and trail experts will be able to identify at least 4, probably 5 different paw prints across the body work, roof included. At my third meeting Vic got a real inferiority complex parked next to two gleaming black Volvo's, one the saloon version of him and the other the super duper 4x4. I left them bickering on the drive. Halfway through this meeting I noticed glances being exchanged by the clean Volvo drivers and all eyes were on my footwear. Thankfully I wasn't in my farm boots as has happened before but as I was in a land of concrete and road sweepers the coating on my shoes was as alien in this building as E.T.
"I'm sorry I live on a farm" I offered as way of explanation, my host had seen one once and reassured that what was on my shoe hadn't fell out of a dogs bottom and that I wasn't some dirty shoe fetishist we carried on with the business of the day.
We shook hands as I left and my very understanding host pointed at my left foot and said "The er...the.."
"Goat probably" I said. He nodded and closed the door.
Thursday, 19 January 2012
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
Tuesday, 17 January 2012
Monday, 16 January 2012
Kid Kurry is a lovely boy and even though it takes three times as long to feed him as it does to milk his mother its time well spent, having said that I wont be sorry when he is on solids.
Not that I begrudge him the three pints a day he's guzzling.
There was one of those only here moments yesterday, yours truly putting a freshly milked pint in his feed bottle got distracted and whatever the distraction was (take your pic, charging pigs, rampaging Ryelands, Shitlands, Bernese, and many more) caused me to put the full bottle of milk on Vic the Volvo's roof. Much much later when I had spent some time looking for said bottle while trying to convince myself that if I hadnt taken it off the roof then surley someone else would have. Eventually I gave up hope and found myself confessing to beautiful and oh so patient wife that I may have let her drive to the shop to buy emergency food supply for humans as Rayburn has died (again, but its a mercy killing, all will be revealed, pity its a Rayburn as it could have been an Aga Saga) with goats food supply balanced on top.
On hearing this the patient one did remember a strange sound like something rolling off the roof at around the two mile marker, I could if I wished go and look for it as she could remember exactly where it was but she thought best not stop as no idiot would have let his wife drive off with anything perched on the roof of his car, especially as he had watched her turn round in the yard and waved her off.
As the idiot she was talking to was the same one who drove from Rock HQ all the way to RAF Brize Norton (140 miles or so) with a set of sheer shears on the roof of Rene and only rescued expensive sheep shears when friendly lorry driver at traffic lights shouted that "You got summat on yer roof mate!" then she was sadly mistaken in this assumption and Kid Kurry was doomed to starvation until the milk bottle shop opened.
Thankfully the apprentice smallholder donated one of his bottles and all will be well, provided I don't get his and the goats feed and/or bottles mixed up. As if.
Sunday, 15 January 2012
Saturday, 14 January 2012
Jobs of the day included some real therapeutic stuff. Chopping logs is always fun. And butch. Much more macho than milking goats and I am embarrassed to say that I am getting goat maids grip, a sort of cramp that occurs from repetitive squeezing, however this is a small price to pay for the lovely creamy milk on my soggies this morning. I also realised late last night that the startled looks on the faces of colleagues when I left a late evening meeting saying "I'm sorry I have to go and milk the goat" was from them thinking this was some new form of euphemism for something unsavoury.
Not sure what Apollo will think of it.