Tales From The Rock

Pirelli Preview

2012-01-27T22:24:00.005Z

In light of the excitement yesterdays photo of Daffodil bathed in sunshine caused I thought a few more pics of the Rock HQ flock might raise a few pulses amongst you sheep fanciers. Heres Roxy, a habitual self harmer.
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.

The Golden Fleece

2012-01-26T21:36:00.002Z

Ryelands are Herefordshire ancient breed, so valuable was their thick wool they used to be referred to as Lemster Ore (Leominster is a local market but you say it as the old spelling) Here Daffodil recreates the Golden Fleece look in her own personal sunbeam!

We are not worthy

2012-01-25T22:26:00.003Z

Ferny Fern Fern from Fern Town leads the way as the Ryelands pay homage to

Chester, a noble steed who has fitted in at Rock HQ with ease

and is developing

quite a following!

Missing something

2012-01-24T23:10:00.002Z

Its hard to imagine I know, perhaps it was just too early in the morning, or I was in too much of a hurry trying to shift various animal deposits off the runway, or thinking too much about the days work ahead, or the rain, but somehow for a whole hour and a half I managed to mislay 200 kgs of beef.

Hetty, above, she of the concrete phobia, was suddenly when I thought about it, conspicuous by her absence. Apollo, William, Bella and Berry were watching with interest as I scooped their poop and added it to the doings mountain. Kayliegh the agoraphobic Anglo Nubian hovered in the doorway mewing that the sky was falling in, but no sign of aforementioned bovine.

With that sinking feeling, the one associated with the realisation you are doomed to be late for the real world and you have the office keys (or rather someone else's office keys as you have already lost yours) and they will be stood on the pavement in the rain, I searched for missing cow.

Theres not many places a steak that big can hide but she managed, and should by rights now be the Dexter world champion for hide and seek. Usual haunts were obviously cow free, trough, feeder, water trough, favourite scratching post. If she had jumped to freedom again then my colleague on the pavement was due a prolonged soaking as cow had to be found. The straw store, the one with just enough space for two lambs. It looked odd. The shadow cast by the horse blankets nailed over the opening looked black.

Blacker than normal.

And this shadow had mud on it.

Space for two lambs was now space for a Dexter with mental health problems.

I lifted the blanket, parting around her like theatre curtains she gave the cow equivalent of "Ta-Dah!" and deemed to join the others for breakfast. I didn't get a pic of this extraordinary cow/Tardis achievement but did get a pic of her strutting her stuff on the runway. Perhaps its only dirty concrete she wont walk on.

Trick sheep

2012-01-23T22:29:00.003Z

Ferny Fern Fern from Fern Town asserting herself over the breakfast table. I took this yesterday as we drove past with our new cooker in the borrowed trailer. The Godfather had made an unexpected visit and as ever, no such thing as a free lunch, or in his case a free cup of tea, slice of cake and hug with his Godson little t, not until he got our huge cooker on and off a trailer, through three small doorways and into place in the kitchen. The slight panic over is it so big it wont fit through the doors subsided when cooker and doorway were introduced and so tea, cakes and cuddles (for small child not me) were taken while we admired the new metalwork. Since it arrived we have at least been able to cook one meal, a nice stir fry, not on the cooker (no electric) but by burning the card and wood packaging it came in.

The new http://www.talesfromtherock.com/ website is slowly coming to life, updates will be regular once yours truly masters the art of sticking stuff on it, there is a gripping tale in compost corner of the new cooker and its mode of delivery. Pig club and other news will follow. Honest!

Vital signs

2012-01-22T22:07:00.001Z

Earlier than last year, Snowdrops are a welcome sign of the coming spring.

Filthy Pig!

2012-01-22T21:46:00.005Z

Thor the Boar of questionable sexuality was persuaded to vacate the med bay and visit the ladies in the pig pen. It has to be said he took to the role with some enthusiasm this time and Bridget helped by standing for him. Another secret of animal husbandry was discovered while Thor was making bacon, and that is the peculiar shape of a male pigs bits, like something out a science fiction film, Ridley Scotts Alien chest burster would be preferable than being faced with Thor's weapon of choice. Still Bridget seemed happy enough and again I was hoping that now he had sampled the delights of the pig pen he would stay.

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.

Birds of a feather

2012-01-21T22:27:00.001Z

Hetty has a new neighbour.

They seem to get on.

Both have issues.

Different world

2012-01-20T22:21:00.003Z

It was one of those days where I had to say goodbye to Rock HQ and join the real world for the day visiting lovely people in far away places. This also meant that the usual routine had to be completed double quick time, mostly in the dark, tripping over sleeping animals and other hazards lurking in the lane. Kayleigh needed milking, Kurry needed feeding ( I now bottle feed two hungry infants in the morning) the dogs exercised and feeding, horses fed and watered, cow checked to make sure she is still in one piece and so on.

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.

Clapham Junction

2012-01-19T21:12:00.004Z

We don't get much traffic here, the odd maniac on a trials bike, some militia on quad bikes with sheep dogs hitching a ride, apart from that any traffic is invited.

So today we were quite excited about the arrival of the new cooker and having warned the depot delivering said appliance that their driver would have to negotiate narrow lanes, dirt tracks, overhanging trees, sheep that refuse to move and shitland ponies prone to car vandalism it came as no surprise that waiting for me in The Oracles yard was a huge articulated effort wedged between the gate and the barn and lit up like Blackpool promenade.

Having already spoken to the driver to guide him in the last 500 yards I knew that he was driving something a tad bigger than a transit van so I had helpfully volunteered to take the trailer down to bring cooker back and save him damaging his custom painted wagon and squash our sheep.

In the rapidly failing light artic maneuvered back and forth while yours truly executed a truly magnificent three point turn despite my performance anxiety and the ever decreasing turning space.

Into this exciting vehicular ballet arrived a LDV lorry emblazoned ASDA who took up precious space and attempted to deliver our groceries.

Now we had an artic more used to delivering containers to dockyards than cookers to mountains, a novice in an almost 4x4 with trailer, a 30 foot white van man keen to get away, The Oracles two cars, Jess the dog and an assortment of pot plants jockeying for position in a space not much bigger than a door mat. With all the ingredients of a disaster movie in place we looked skyward for the approaching passenger jet bound to crash in order to make things just a bit more interesting.

The Oracle appeared, summonsed by the chaos in his farm yard, and as is by magic with some well placed left hand down a bits he marshaled the traffic, took delivery of the cooker for me (its so massive it would not fit in the trailer, it now occupies most of his barn space, don't get any ideas its guarded by Jess, weighs seven ton and looks like its nuclear powered) ordered the van driver to off load the groceries into the trailer and leave them in the plastic boxes theres a good lad, right that's you lot off now, there you are my boy all done and dusted see you on the weekend when you can borrow my trailer and move it up to your place, Jess will keep an eye on it til then.

Everyone needs good neighbours.

Heart surgery

2012-01-18T22:40:00.006Z

One of the best things and worst things about our cottage is the sulky lump of metal in the kitchen, the Rayburn. It is the warm heart of the cottage, always ticking over providing a gentle heat, heating our water and when it has a mind to it cooks our meals. You get used to the fact that it takes between half an hour and four days to get hot enough to fry a rasher of bacon, or its stubborn refusal to cook a Sunday roast when the wind is in the wrong direction or the planets are not aligned to its liking.

But we have soldiered on, putting up with its foibles, the need for the SAS to come and sort it out when it tries to set fire to yours truly or when it shuts down in a sulk having been made to cook three meals in a day.

It also runs our central heating, but we have seldom had that on as A) we cannot afford to and B) we are a hardy lot here on the Bonsai Mountain. Just before Christmas, as a precursor to the I will be more organised new years resolution, I dipped the oil tank to see how much of this fabulously expensive liquid we had left. 250 litres, might not be enough to see us through to the new year so frugality reigned supreme just in case we ran out of juice mid cook of Christmas dinner and were forced to finish roasting the turkey on the barbq, again.

Just after Christmas I dipped the tank and made the horrific discovery that we were down to the last 120 litres. Even with my rubbish math I calculated that we were using over 10 litres a day and as the majority of the time the days had been with the Rayburn on tick over, the lowest setting it could be that was an awful lot. Ten litres a day! Or six quids worth it real terms! Drastic measures are now called for, there was no way we could continue burning that much money a day for little return. So the money that would have been spent on more oil has been redirected and arrives in a box tomorrow.

The Rayburn is dead. The oil ran out last Sunday.

The cottage is in need of a heart transplant. One that runs on a renewable source. And we need to be able to cook. Watch this space.

Curtain raiser

2012-01-17T21:43:00.002Z

Slight movements in the horse blankets betrayed their hidey hole

and sure enough Bella

is all cosy warm but behind her

is Berry, warm as toast. I didn't have the heart to evict them.

Non returnable bottles

2012-01-16T22:02:00.003Z

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.

Dont frighten the horses!

2012-01-15T22:35:00.003Z

There were several points today where activities could have descended into chaos. Observers watching a fat bloke "running" up and down the lane being either the chaser or chasee of pigs might argue the toss and say it had but at the end of play I am happy with the results of our honest labours.

Kayleigh and Kurry were moved from the plush interior of the stables to the new goat house at the end of the kennel block. This entails fencing off 12 feet of the concrete runway with a nice shiny metal gate giving Kayleigh the agoraphobic Anglo Nubian a nice sun terrace. Once installed in new quarters she spent most of her time leaning against the walls complaining the sky was falling in or hiding behind the hay rack as the horses were looking at her in a funny way. Kurry took it all in his stride and danced around in a highly entertaining way oblivious to his mothers phobias.

The newly purchased hurdles formed a barrier across the yard and for the first time livestock entering the yard were faced with a barrier that at least looked like one, not the usual collection of strategically placed vehicles, wheelbarrows and wishful thinking, this being the only thing stopping whatever beast it was heading off to the hills.

Today's beasts were stampeding pigs who, having not been fed breakfast were keen to tell me of the error of my ways. I led the way and soon had all the pigs crammed with some enthusiasm into the stable, a slight faux pas on my side was not having been confident this would work I had failed to leave any real food in the stable to occupy the curious pork until the door was shut. With a squeal of "Back its a trap" they all ran back out of the door and back down the lane hoping that the breakfast fairies had been in their absence.

This continued until two of the three little pigs were safe in the stable with Iggle and Piggle, one of the little pigs being a bit more wary than its siblings refused to leave the safety of the Bonsai Mountain.

Thor was then persuaded to leave the med bay, say goodbye to Apollo and get in amongst the Mangalitzas Pam and Bridget. Here a transformation took place. Our boar of questionable sexuality suddenly became all boarish. Drooling over everything he marked the perimeter of the pen with foamy flob and tiddled over everyone and everything while the girls made idiots of themselves and squealed and squeaked with delight every time Thor strutted by. He even managed a couple of attempted mounts, bossed the girls around who unbelievably became all passive and stole their food.

Confident that Thor now knew his place, his purpose and status in the animal kingdon I left him to get on with chopping wood (there is a saga re wood, oil, heating, sulky rayburns and clever electricians, but you will have to wait) while he got on with what he had been bought for.

Quite why some four minutes later he was back under Apollos belly rubbing himself in a most undignified manner and frightening the horses is a question that only he can answer. I suppose true love conquers all, and that includes fences.

Dawn of a new ice age

2012-01-14T22:19:00.004Z

An extraordinary sight greeted us this morning, the ground, trees and most slow moving critters were coated in frost. Mid January and frost? Who ever would have thought it? Why it was plus 13 the other day, I was outside at midnight wearing only a t shirt (well not only I had trousers and boots but you know what I mean) and here we are minus 6! Somebody should do something about this sort of thing. I blame the Government. So it would seem winter has finally got fed up with spring trying to push in and has put in a late appearance.

I was happy about this as it meant less sloshing around in knee deep mud

and even the mundane became more attractive when coated in ice crystals.

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.

Time was spent with the new arrivals, and after a trip to a Gate shop (yes there are such things)we look like, for once, we are organised as the new hurdles will keep Kurry from the milk bar (he has been helping himself) and when we add the rest of the hurdles there will be lambing pens aplenty. Much much different from our first lambing in 2007 where one ewe was separated from the other by old rabbit hutches and string. We thought we were doing well when we used straw bale walls last year, but these metal hurdles with interlocking ends and clip on hay racks are the bee's knees and almost as much fun a Lego!

Tomorrow there are a lot of moves planned, the new goats go into a bespoke goat house with patio (just in case the agoraphobia is cured) The three now not so little pigs plus Iggle and Piggle move into the space vacated by Kayleigh and Kurry, (where they await the quick trip to the clestial sty and Mr Whirlpool) Thor moves out of what was always supposed to be the dairy, but is usually the med bay or emergency shelter, and down to live in the pig pen with Bridget and Pamela. What we hope will happen is that there Thor will forget his love for Apollo and do the business with his own kind. This might be wishful thinking but we are nothing if not optimistic at Rock HQ.
Not sure what Apollo will think of it.

USP

2012-01-13T22:48:00.004Z

Some of our readers have felt compelled to email over the last 24 hours, the theme being, given my allergy to goats, and the blatant prejudice demonstrated toward the species on the new webpage under the title "Goats. Why bother?" , what then would possess me to seek out and buy some more.

Well rest assured my desire to be as goat free at Rock HQ is as strong as ever. A quick look down the "garden" where you can review the detritus of battles lost against the ravenous hordes of milkless horned cloven hoofed pestilence who stripped the fruit trees of all vegetation,fruit and bark, who ignored the no entry signs on the veg patch, conquered the goat proof fence and decimated all signs of life, or the smashed up greenhouses that contained the almost ripe crop of tomatoes devoured in an instant, is more than enough reason to get rid of all goat like creatures lurking around the smallholding. Ambrose is in the exit lounge as I type, he having only a few days left before sampling Caribbean cookery.

So why Kayliegh and Kurry?

Were they such a bargain I could not refuse?

Well not really, they cost a fair number of beer tokens.

Was it the thought of all the milk, yoghurt, cheese and Ice Cream made from Kayliegh's contribution to her keep (not to mention the replacement curry ingredients from Kurry thrown in free) well partly, the fridge does contain 4 litres of the white stuff, the dogs have had a fair share and Kurry has been fed. So Kayleigh has already contributed and done some good work for goat kind.

No, this goat has a unique selling point, one so appealing that even I who has suffered at the hoof of goats for five long years simply could not resist.

Kayliegh is agoraphobic.

The garden is safe.

Like clockwork

2012-01-12T20:24:00.005Z

Every now and then, when the planets are in alignment, the four horsemen of the apocalypse are otherwise engaged and the small gods of smallholding are looking the other way, you get a really good day. A day that lifts your heart, makes you think that actually all this effort is worthwhile and that for once being coated in the doings of several species is justified. Yes I am talking about day planned and day actual being one and the same. A day that was planned with military precision, the success of which relied on timing, a day that went like clockwork.

The bar was perhaps set too high, but we had no choice. We could borrow a small stock trailer, Wednesday only, morning only, a small stock trailer needed for two jobs, job one, collect a goat that I had for some insane reason felt compelled to buy(never say never) and a goat which I was assured would provide us with milk and curry. Milk to the sum of 7 pints a day, and curry in six months as the male kid given to sweeten the deal would be the main ingredient of several, and he would with a bit of effort make a fetching rug.

However moving goats on the the smallholding would mean that Guinevere and Morgana Berkshire sows would not be able to go to see the boar for a long time as we would be on shutdown, no stock movement off site. As small trailer would also transport pigs it was a simple matter of collecting trailer from different countrymove job one collect goat to job two so new job one became persuade the right two sows to leave the pig pen (which contains 9 pigs of different sizes and breed, all untrained) and get in a trailer for the first time ever in their lives (they got here on the back seat of Hazel the almost 4x4, don't ever buy a car off us) take them to the land of the Stable Sprite, unload, drive across the county to collect goat and kid, return, unload new critters and get to work on time. Simple. What could possibly go wrong?

For once absolutely nothing. Morgana led the way, Guinevere followed albeit through a different gate but both took to the trailer like fish to bicycles. Locked and loaded we went to the magic kingdom of Stable Sprite which to some looks like a barren wasteland but is actually work in progress, he was eventually coaxed out of hiding and took charge of the sows. His boar then tried to take charge of the sows but they took to charging off, but they will all get together in the end. Pig club needs the recruits! (Pig club news sheet will be sent this weekend honest!)

We made it to the car park of The Little Chef some miles away in time to collect our new Anglo Nubian, Kayleigh (yes another Marillion fan in goat form) and her son Kurry (uncanny!)

Safely aboard we got back to HQ and unloaded our precious charges into the stable, I got changed from smallholder to social worker and made it to the Red Kite office at the allotted time. Just in time for tea and biscuits. Hurrah!

Later, much later, after milking Kayliegh and fattening up Kurry with a bottle of her milk I made a statement that I knew the small gods of smallholding could not ignore.

I simply said, "You know (this was a comment to the world in general as my beautiful and oh so patient wife was beyond listening to me having a highly entertaining goatling to play with, yes I know she shouldn't play with her food)

You know (I repeated it in case she had forgotten what I was about to say on account of brackets)

You Know (for emphasis) either we are getting better at this smallholding lark or we were incredibly lucky today"

The world held it breath and waited for the definitive answer.

There was a loud whinney and crash.

Trevor kicked in Hazels door.

We were lucky.

Big trouble for small horse

2012-01-11T23:49:00.002Z

No not the name of a rubbish western film, there really is big trouble for this small horse who in all his excitement began kicking his heels in the air and accidentally smashed the passenger door of Hazel the almost 4x4!

Roll Call

2012-01-10T22:38:00.004Z

One of the three little pigs desperate to make roll call before the goons discover their early morning wanderings.
At the same time proving the smallholders rule that all animals can pass through holes half their body size.

Really saying something

2012-01-09T22:25:00.003Z

Blessed with so many critters so close to the cottage I am, unlike James Herriot, usually thankful that all creatures great and small cannot talk and for the most part share my love of heavy metal/prog rock (Yes goats do milk better listening to Marillion (( Fugazi the album of choice((( neo-prog rock ok pedants)))

There are also occasions when I sincerely wish they could tell me what has gone through their tiny minds, usually when they have done something incredibly dull like getting their head stuck in a piece of garden furniture.

Today I had a real sense of Apollo wanting to tell me something, he having the greater part of his face stuck exactly where he knew it should not be, in the straw store. Old horse blankets nailed over the front reinforced by wooden pallet proved no deterrent to this determined pony. Was he hungry? Forced to eat his future bedding due to lack of appropriate calories. Well as two ton of hayledge is just out of shot awaiting his machinations then no. No. He had something on his mind.

Forced out of the way so I could get a look in at first glance it looked like there was nothing to see, except bales, admittedly part chewed bales, but bales. Closer inspection, at Apollo's insistence revealed a cosy Ryeland lamb squeezed in the almost non existent gap and on discovery Bella made no attempt to leave her den. In fact she curled further into the straw and made it obvious there was no intention to move out. I will put a pic of this on the blog tomorrow once she has turned round a bit as all we can see at the moment is a fleecy backside(photographing and publishing pictures of lambs backsides gets you an undeserved reputation in these parts) oh and pony that grasses on its mates.

PGOOR unmasked!

2012-01-08T17:59:00.006Z

The last three days have been a battle with porkers. Every morning at sparrows fart the Berners alert us to sausage on the rampage and skirmishes with buckets ensue as pork and mutton slog it out in the lane for supremacy while yours truly entices the beserker bangers back into the pig pen. The exit point was obvious, no tunnels this time, the gate was wide open. Had the PGOOR struck again?
The Ryelands, miffed at not getting their breakfasts first, loiter around looking for opportunity to create more havoc while the Berners charge around adding their thoughts to the mix, in all, chaos reigns. Iron gate slammed shut behind the last of the trainee bacon and all is well in my world.
So it is with some annoyance that half an hour or so after the first melee, when I am settling down to a full cooked English the sirens sound again and another raid is on. Squadrons of pigs swoop past the cottage cheered on by their fleecy supporters, the Berners do what can only be described as chuck a mental at this fresh incursion and the farce is only resolved by the limited patience of yours truly and the lure of the magic blue bucket. Order restored, gate shut (it was strangely open again!) breakfast rescued from vermin cats, a quiet normal life resumes.
For an hour or so.
The shrill sound of the Bernese siren alerts us to another raid by hostile forces. This takes some defeating as having had more than their fair share of rations the pigs are not so inclined to follow the blue bucket and have to be enticed with promises of carrots, fresh straw and access to a radio 1 hour a day. Despite this a Berkshire is MIA for an hour and is found making its way back for a safe landing in the fresh straw while the rest are drinking in the mess.
The gate is firmly closed.
Later on I am on a perimeter check. The sequence below is filmed. Had I filmed twenty seconds earlier you would have seen Bridget grasp the gate draw bar in her jaws, slide it back and push. The gate swung open and grunting the pig equivalent of "Follow me!" she was off again. She refused to do it on camera. Never work with kids and animals. But has the PGOOR finally been unmasked?

Competition time

2012-01-07T22:09:00.002Z

Competition time. Spot the pig at the breakfast melee.
Theres at least one!

Microclimates

2012-01-06T23:28:00.003Z

We have always known Rock HQ was the wrong side of the mountain, anyone wishing to build today would choose a place that was flatter and had more daylight, and as a consequence has its own micro climate. As I type this drinking a very alcoholic ginger concoction (not at all home made honest guv!) there is no truth in the rumour that anyone living here turns to alcohol due to lack of vitamin D.

There have been times when we are a 2 degree variance in temp over the valley average. Not that I am a geek and meticulously record the temp and rainfall daily. Of course I don't, meticulous and record are not traits I possess. I just notice these things.

Anyway the point of this is that today Vic and I set out from HQ on a mission. As we travelled a few miles from our front door the backside of Vic made an impertinent attempt to overtake his front. I would like to say that my ever so switched on driving skills averted disaster, but that would be a lie, it happened so fast that by the time the rear of the car settled to where it should be, ie. following me, I had just thought of steering in to the skid . Instead I thought aaaarrrggh ice!!! but as the now blackbird proof brain of Vic (see previous) was telling me we were a balmy 8 degrees in the red, ice was not the cause of the strange handling, no, more likely the tyre pressures which I had sort of addressed before leaving.

Sort of as in that tyre looks flat I must sort it.

It was at that point in my cognitive ruminations that I saw a silver Ford Fiesta sail past backwards on my side of the road, and as Vic's magnificent ABS juddered us to a halt the driver of the now crumpled Fiesta was climbing out of the passenger door and thanking his lucky stars that Vic the Volvo was more sure footed and steerable than his Ford.

Over the I'm sorrys I've just passed my test and Dads going to kill me I established that he wasn't hurt and that indeed despite the air temp the road was a sheet of ice, for several miles, which was why he had carried straight on backwards instead of following the curve of the road. I left him after we phoned Dad who set out to rescue his first born and I made it to my destination without further ado.

Not for the first time I was grateful for the robust constitution of Vic.

Cheers Vic.

All present and correct

2012-01-05T20:53:00.002Z

I suppose it says something about the ferocity of last nights storm that Technohermit felt he had to phone me and see if I was alright just after sunrise. I was surprised to hear from him given it was so early and more so when I discovered why he was calling, had we been blown away. Well the cottage took a battering, I was woken up at 2.30 am with a sound similar to a roof being torn off, but the bulk of the buildings been here since 1785 and has probably seen worse. Not for the first time we thanked the small gods of tree removal for having felled the three ash trees that surrounded the stable (yes I know we should have felled them before building the stable but wheres the fun in forward planning) otherwise we might have had a different tale to tell. The only significant damage we found was a leak in the stable roof, hence the wet patch on the wall. All our animals were present and correct, hungry as ever. So in the continuing gale I set off with Trixie, this time without the brakes on, and got another ton of their favourite munchies. Unloading had to wait til dark as work got in the way of playing. By nightfall the rain and wind had abated but the new river that ran across the yard was entertaining for the Berners. The plus side of this river appearing is that it means the drain I put in the concrete of the Corral OK is working. Phase two is to continue it across the yard and into the ditch in the field.

The new website seems to be working and thanks for all the comments, all good. Those who contacted us about pig club will get a newsheet in their emails shortly.

All change

2012-01-04T21:38:00.003Z

If we have pressed the right combination of keys then www.talesfromtherock.com should have reappeared in a dramatic new format. A couple more tweaks and it will be done. The blog is still where it was, as is Dolyhir Bernese Mountain Dogs and Red Kite Fostering, several other pages are now up and running, perhaps the most useful will be compost corner, useful as in it will be full of things to avoid doing, like build things with tyres.

Have some

2012-01-03T22:20:00.003Z

We get a lot of weather here, but today I can, with some honesty, say that we had a lot of it in a very short time. I lost the arm wrestle so had to go out and brave the elements, a task made harder by the fact that our less than straight boar was wandering around inspecting all receptacles in the hope that they contained food. Several possible food containers sped past the cottage at high speed thanks to the storm force wind, others went past against the prevailing wind attached to a bored boar. Thor decided to leave me alone when the hail disintegrated what was left of my sense of humour. This meant he missed the comedy show when I made the mistake of trying to turn around in the pigsty forgetting that knee deep mud prevented this manoeuvre and when I finally extricated myself from what was now elbow deep mud I had had it with weather, mud, pigs and buckets without handles. Ignoring the score cards held aloft by the pigs (some had scored deliberately low) as I clambered out of the pen I consoled myself that within the week more than half of the current occupants will be resident in Mr Whirlpool. We shall see who is laughing then.

Getting to know you

2012-01-02T20:51:00.005Z

Trevor, aka Johnny big potatoes has been giving it the big I Am's all over the smallholding today. One minute he was racing up and down the slopes of the Bonsai Mountain, the next careering along the lane with Misty running a close second. Quite what all this energy expending was about is contained within his tiny equine brain but the effect was startling. Ryelands took cover, Berners hid, one didn't and the canine ooooof from the Rockmeister and heel met rib could be heard above the noise of the gale blowing up the valley. Trevor took time out to say hello to Chester, which started well, but then he got a little to personal.

Start as you mean to go on

2012-01-01T22:19:00.003Z

It was a very very very slow start here at Rock HQ, one that had nothing to do with staying up until the early hours of 2012 and emailing all and sundry New Year Wishes, drinking too much single malt and eating too much blue cheese. In fact the new year was heralded by a cup of tea and watching the fireworks on TV until a chance discovery of the last of the 2010 sloe gin was found and abstinence binned. The critters all sheltered from the weather so aside from two inquisitive pigs, signs of life were minimal around the cottage until late morning. We did start as we meant to go on with a minor drama on the rabbit front, they were in the garden, not in the hutch (cheers pigs) and so had to be rounded up before they became interesting squeaky toys for the Berners.

Another round up

2011-12-31T20:42:00.003Z

An unforgettable part of my day has been with the Technohermit trying to explain how a gas cooker works. This was not an easy task. especially as his appraisal of a gas ring as a "good un" is one that ignites in a ball of blue flame that removed several layers of paint from the wall and most of the hair from his face. After what seemed a lifetime of repeating the lighting instructions, which ring was operated by which knob (he has a fear of using knobs, door knobs in particular, see previous) how to use the grill without welding flesh to metal and how the oven can be used to cook rather than dry clothes I finally escaped. Not before demonstrating how to use the fire extinguisher and allaying his concerns over the fact that if he used a fire blanket to smother a fire it was better the blanket burning rather than him or his lovely new home. His lovely new home which he has still to move into as he has an issue with levels, it not being level. As its perched on the side of a mountain it is about as level as can be managed and when I checked it with a spirit level it was indeed uneven. Out by a whole 5mm. He is now waiting for someone with a jack to mysteriously appear and lift it the necessary.

On my walk back I had the chance to reflect on another exciting year here at HQ. And what a year! Red Kite is soaring. I won my employment tribunal, hardly a surprise as I was totally in the right (so narny nah nah to the backstabbers)We lost a few treasured pets, Passion the 19 year old very ancient beagle, Geisha our most annoying goat Rainbow the foal. We gained Chester a fabulous retired race horse, the Mangalitzas Pamela and Bridget, closely followed by Thor the Boar and Pedro the new Ryeland Ram. Various lambs and piglets are still here but soon to be in Mr Whirlpool, some quail have taken up residence in the tack room (more often the conservatory) we rescued two dogs, three cat and a pigeon called Percy. In our spare time built a concrete playground for the horses, chased a cow across the county as she searched for love (and found it) and managed the Technohermits transition from a hole in the ground to a shepherds hut (almost). The BBMC was conquered and I finally managed to give up full time work for other people.

But the most significant and life changing event of the year was the birth of our son Tristan who has been a source of joy and wonder since we heard his first cry in the operating theatre at 1.30 in the morning on the 27th of February.

Life is great. Who knows what 2012 will bring (Aside from animla chaos, the BBMC, the 1st annual Bernese Mountain Dog Treasure Hunt and the OTT) but if its half as good as this year has been then that's all we could hope for. There are some changes planned, not least of which to this site, finally most of the work has been done to transform this single page into an exciting interactive site. Stay tuned.

In closing I would wish all of our supporters and readers a very happy new year, may you get the year you wish for and deserve.

My left foot

2011-12-30T21:37:00.003Z

Things have a habit of going missing when you share a house with Bernese Mountain Dogs and Heidi (the ghost that hides things) Today I was struggling to find my left wellington, an essential when there is a lake of mud around the cottage. Making do with my beautiful and oh so patient wife's pair (several sizes too small) I set off around the Bonsai mountain on a recce to find suitable hiding places for "treasure" for our planned first annual Bernese Mountain Dog treasure hunt next summer. I explored a new section of the ridge, found several suitable locations within easy reach of an air ambulance and in The Cauldron found this item filling with rain water. One of the usual suspects can be seen leaving the scene of the crime.

Not the best news

2011-12-29T20:14:00.003Z

Cast your mind back to June, sunny days, yes they were, blue skies, really they were, and a mad miniature cow with an amazing ability to jump fences.Hetty our mid legged Dexter followed the call of nature and overwhelmed with the desire to procreate she abandoned a life of chastity at Rock HQ and took a giant leap forward (several) into the lands of the militia to find true love, if not then a quickie behind the cowshed.
Thankfully we rescued her and saved her from deflowerment, and with the help of The Oracle separated the lovesick Hetty from the lustful advances of a big brute of a Belgian Blue Bull. Life returned to normal, Hetty looked out cross the lands of the militia with longing, but refrained from venturing into the unknown. She did call him, but he had long gone. No flowers, no letters, nothing. Hetty put this down to experience and moved on. Or so we thought.
Two days ago Hetty was behaving very oddly, more so than normal (having conquered her fear of concrete and adorning her cowsonage with garden furniture) so oddly that it looked like she was about to give birth. Impossible.
Our favourite vet called today and gave several animals an MOT. One of his tasks was to check what was wrong with our Hetty. Now I have always had a lot of respect for Paul the vet, but the way he managed to insert his left arm past his elbow up Hetty's back passage while she walked around her shelter was modern art. Hetty was surprisingly relaxed about this unexpected intrusion and once over the initial shock settled down to eat breakfast while Paul did his vet thing. Verdict. Six months pregnant. Right on the money with that announcement it being the 23rd of June that Hetty, as we now know, allowed the Belgian Brute to have his wicked way.
So now we have choices. Abort the calf, or let her carry a calf that she is not likely to be able to give birth to and risk her life, and the calf's, with a cesarean section. We are sleeping on it.
More bad news, Paul had a look at Bliss, the Berner who has grown in size in the right places, got fussy over food, built a nest, produced milk and chased the cats. Shes not pregnant, shes faking it.

Hetty is the small one in the middle, the Belgian Brute is lurking behind.

Sleepy Hollow

2011-12-28T22:04:00.003Z

One of us had to work today. Others got to play and re-enact scenes from Sleepy Hollow

Head count

2011-12-27T21:34:00.002Z

The annual paperwork has arrived, asking us how many sheep and goats we have on our small patch of the planet. This prompted a quick head count of what critters actually freeload, I mean, live with us at HQ. From a shaky start 6 years ago when we had a geriatric cat, a Gordon Setter, a Pathetic Triever, three ancient beagles, two rabbits and a bucket of fish rescued from a pond we now have four vermin cats, 9 of our own dogs, one foster dog (two on holiday as well) two shetland ponies, two larger cobs, a horse, six rabbits, 18 sheep, 10 pigs, 20 birds of various makes and sizes, a goat and a cow.

All of which co exist in and around the cottage adding to the general excitement of life.

Hetty, our cow, really added to the excitement today, behaving very strangely, like she was going to give birth. We already have a Bernese claiming pregnancy so we can do without a cow having a maternal breakdown. She did get in with a bull six months ago, so it cant be that, so we are in the wait and see what happens stage of smallholding. As usual.

The shape of things to come

2011-12-26T19:11:00.005Z

Christmas was a fun day and not without some typical Rock HQ incidents (read disasters) some of which were down to yours truly's lack of spatial awareness, but most due to animal behaviour. Animal antics included Aunt Montana sitting on the dining table and knocking off and smashing the table decorations (God knows what prompted her to think she was suddenly allowed to sit on the table!) Hetty, or Apollo fell asleep on a deep bed of straw, not a problem save for the plight of a poor Ryeland lamb called Berry who bagged the sleeping space first. Christmas morning feed routine was in the nick of time and Berry was dragged out from the straw and away from the tunnel of light that she was just about to follow. Shes ok, a bit slow and stiff, flatter, wary of large sleeping animals and on the way to a recovery. The Christmas cake was not able to be rescued after the attentions of a large ginger cat called Nemo, like most visitors to HQ said, "I didn't know cats liked Christmas cake!" neither did I and he didn't. What he did do after pulling the cake tin off the doomed dried fruit creation was experiment with the contents, chewing the edges off, digging a hole in the centre (presumably in the hope of finding concealed cat treats) and then sleeping on the remains to ensure no attempt was made to ice over his crime.

My fault leaving it out only protected by armour plating. I had a minor seasonal panic as the piece of beef I bought would not fit the oven, it being the size of a small pony (the meat not the oven)With all the shelves out it just fitted, with the emergency turkey crammed it as well (just in case 9 kg of beef wouldn't feed 7 people) sardines have more leg room. This put paid to any ideas of roasting all veg etc but in the end we managed. He who cannot be named introduced Rock HQ to the delights of Hendrick G and T with a slice of cucumber and soon all culinary worries faded into insignificance in the quest for the perfect Hendricks. People were far too generous with their gifts and a big thank you to all of you, highlights include little T getting his first proper walking boots, he has no choice, he will climb every mountain (his big sister climbed to within 500mtrs of the summit Mt Blanc aged 13, a tough act to follow) and hopefully I can keep up with his early challenges. Knowing that I am a repressed anorak Father Christmas brought me an airfix spitfire and as soon as I am allowed sharp craft knives and glue it will be assembled (unlike the collection of unmade kits in the workshop)

Dinner was finally placed in front of hungry guests and we made a bit of a dent in the beef. There was one space at the table though, Techno decided not to join us but was delivered a selection of the Christmas feast in the early evening. This was a highly entertaining venture as I had consumed more than my fair share of Hendricks and other concoctions, luckily Beth was a designated driver and chose to walk around the Bonsai Mountain with her dear old dad and stop him wandering off into the wilderness. Techno was happy to get a food parcel but has yet to move into his new lodgings. We got back in time for the cheese and port race, a vital part of the festive occasion, almost as traditional as the Queen's speech.

Little T had a definite favourite present. An envelope. Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas one and all!

2011-12-25T23:15:00.002Z

Its been a good one here at Rock HQ, we wish you a very happy Christmas!

Never look a gift horse in the mouth

2011-12-24T20:50:00.003Z

Observant readers will have noticed this handsome chap lurking in the background of some pics here at Rock HQ for quite a while now. This is Chester, a 16.1 thoroughbred retired hunter who was given to us by a lovely family who wanted a good forever home for their boy. Now call me old fashioned but whoever heard of anyone giving away such a nice horsey so being the cynical sort I subjected them to the full inquisition (without the comfy chair) until I had not only his full life story but also his dentists name and address. Tracey is the horsey one of the two of us, and she put him through his paces, I took him for a walk and explained whats what here, he knew who was boss so did his best to impress her. The really nice people who gave him to us also gave us his tack, sleeping bag, toothbrush and several weeks supply of food. After several visits all were happy and Chester was welcomed into the fold. He arrived in style having cantered most of the 10 miles across country to get here in around an hour and a half.

Since living in his new house he has been as good as gold, even staying in the yard over night on the third night (no gates or fences between him and the wilderness) after Thor had decided to release him just for a laugh. He has been introduced to the critters, for some reason Hetty is eyed with suspicion but rampaging porkers and terrorist shitland ponies are taken in his immense stride.

Today was my turn to take him out, after he had been "tired" out by my beautiful and oh so patient wife. He stood quietly while I clambered on, we got ten yards, I felt about as safe as sitting astride a giant razor blade strapped to an Exocet missile (I had been warned he was narrow, and more like a in his Ferrari in his responses than a sofa, which is an apt description of the speed and handling of my pretty boy gypsy cob) The patient one gave some good advice, most of which was centred around you have to stop shaking, but after seeing my future, lying dazed and confused over the hills and far away I pulled the eject handle and baled out on the lane to return to the cottage to find something useful to do. Like wrapping presents.

He is a lovely boy, and we would like to thank Lyn and Hayley for their very generous gift. Merry Christmas.

One other thing....

2011-12-23T22:24:00.002Z

Theres been something we have been meaning to tell you about.....

To hell and back

2011-12-22T22:01:00.003Z

I really don't know what inspired the "Don't worry I'll do it" comment, but its comments like that that cause no end of strife, which was why I was found in a massive hypermarket having a good go at a nervous breakdown as swarms of trolleys pushed by maniacs desperate to get a good stock of food in just in case they ran out as the shop closed for 44 hours over Christmas closed in on my ever decreasing personal space.
Bipeds deserving of dayglo warnings like wide load stickers on their backsides struggled with over laden trolleys full of seasonal calorific excesses, some were so concerned that the apocalyptic hell of closed signs would mean starvation that they had three trolleys in a convoy system, one particular family from hell had three trolleys in a row across the gangway while chubsters grasped at last minute must haves.
I sought sanctuary in the soap and detergent aisle, the only clear floor space in the place, why did I volunteer to get the food shop? Why didn't I just cut myself instead, it would be less painful. I gathered my thoughts, I was here so my beautiful and oh so patient wife didn't have to be, I was here to get the Christmas dinner essentials, sprouts, and I was here because I had seen an advert telling me that the present I wanted to by my better half was here, half price.
So I manned up, shoved the trolley into the fast lane and took the blows to the ankle, didn't complain when the 12 year old operating the till I started to unload my almost purchases on to happily told me they were closing after serving the smug git in front of me and I single handedly saved the planet by using a card box instead of plastic bags.
On leaving the store I took a standing ovation from the crowd, packed Vic, replaced the trolley, donated the £1 coin needed to unleash the wire beast to charity, took the long way out of the car park so a granny could have my parking space (reversing for her was not an option) and very pleased with myself made it back to HQ, proud that for once, just for once I had completed my Christmas shop without mad rush to the late night garage Christmas Eve.
Back at the ranch I regaled the patient one with tales of slain dragons, of wrongs righted, of daring do's done. She listened carefully and forgave the minor discretion's like no lemonade. I had done well.
Except.
Except for that sudden nagging feeling.
The one you get when you know you have done something incredibly stupid.
Unbelievably stupid.
Like leave your wife's Christmas present in the shopping trolley.

Freeze!!!

2011-12-21T22:18:00.002Z

Freeze!!....Step away from the Christmas stocking!

Mission accomplished

2011-12-21T21:03:00.004Z

Thanks to the Herculean efforts of Colin and Dave the move the hermit to suitable accommodation before winter gets a grip job can now be struck off the list. Once again men and machines combined to move the wooden wonder to its final resting place, a job that was done so quickly they had gone by the time I returned with their fish and chips. Techno was very happy, especially as he now had 3 portions of Britain's contribution to world cuisine to himself. I asked if he was now moving in, well not quite, he needed curtains first, a rug, perhaps one of them lamps with the floaty stuff in, some scatter cushions, a mattress. The list was growing. I left him wondering whether he could put a porch on it, that's what it needs see, a porch, keeps the weather out. I left him as he began looking for his tools. Well, at least we got it to him in one piece and weatherproof.

It also means we can get on with other things......

By complete contrast

2011-12-20T21:20:00.003Z

This time last year I was playing one of Santa's helpers and battling through snow drifts to deliver Christmas cheer to some families I was working with. This year the chance of a white Christmas is about as remote as North Korea becoming a tourist destination. The rain is currently lashing down which means that phase two of moving this wooden wonder is not going to be without problems, mud being the main protagonist and the Technohermits distinct lack of coffee making skill will no doubt add to the low mood of all involved.

Still, it is almost Christmas and theres no better time than this to put yourself out for a fellow man, or woman, or hermit.

Its not like we haven't got anything better to do.......

Pig Club

2011-12-19T21:06:00.004Z

Pig club will be starting again next year so lovers of all pork based products can get their fix of ethically raised pigs who are pampered and then converted into pig roasts and sausage. Details of how to join this and become a virtual farmer will be revealed 1.1.12 when another exciting development at Rock HQ will be revealed. You can also click on the link below and see other pig club recruits going through their basic training.

Meanwhile there was something else..........

Feeling festive

2011-12-18T22:15:00.005Z

Perhaps it was Greg Lakes classic that suddenly evoked the festive feeling here at Rock HQ, or the sudden realisation that there are only 6 shopping days left to Christmas and while I pride myself at being able to get all Christmas shopping done Christmas Eve afternoon I bit the bullet and went shopping today. Needless to say this was an epic fail, I came back with only one present, but several useful items like a collection of organic beetroot, a tub of meal worms and a growing sense of anxiety that I am going to be very busy next Saturday afternoon. Still I did manage to buy a few items on line, again this ground to a halt when I realised that on one site I had bought 3 cds as presents, and 13 other I like and were bargains.

The festive feeling carried on with yours truly creating a work of art in fairy lights on the patio while my beautiful and oh so patient wife tried to be equally creative in the Christmas Cake department only slightly hampered by the fact that the Glace Cherries Fairy had been (the GCF will by right half empty any full tub of glace cherries left unguarded at eye level) I dressed up the apprentice smallholder as Rudolf and Roy wished it could be Christmas everyday. The fact that I got Hazel stuck sideways in the above lane thanks to a combination of dark, ice, mud and gravity failed to dampen my enthusiasm for all things merry. A grumpy Technohermit haranguing me over how I had got it all wrong and should have used a winch, yes a hand winch, to haul his Shepherd Hut up the hill almost took the shine off things and nearly led to him attending casualty to explain how such a big shed had got rammed up his jacksy sideways.

Unfortunately its a sad fact that not all of us are looking forward to Christmas (if such a concept existed for all things pork based) and some of us may find that they will be playing a bigger part that others, and for one or two it will take total commitment. But meantime keep eating.

There was one other thing.........

Modern Technology

2011-12-17T21:05:00.009Z

Its been a bit of a dull day here on the Bonsai Mountain, one of those rare days when not a lot happened. The piglets hit the jackpot when they found the back door of Trixie wide open, that was entertaining for a few moments.
Aside from the epic struggle to get the Shepherd Hut up the precipitous slopes of the Bonsai Mountain nothing noteworthy took place. For many months we have been trying to coax the Technohermit from his damp smokey lair and move into more spacious luxurious accommodation(see above). A few false starts, he was keen to buy a bus for a while (no I have no idea why either) and then after I saw a Shepherds Hut at a country show the plan gradually came together. Technohermit was keen once he saw what his hard earned pennies could get him and so an order was placed and yesterday the wait was over, the hut arrived on the back of a low loader. Dave and John had crafted it well, all we had to do now was get it up the hill.
If you want to see how five men, three 4x4s, three chainsaws, a packet of bourbon biscuits and an endless variation of knob jokes achieved this feat then go to youtube and search for Shepherd Hut Magicians, I will post the link when I remember how.
My part in this apart from organising it all was to clear the sleepy hollow type lane of over hanging branches. Now despite the fact I was there early doors chopping down trees, felling mighty branches, having an exciting moment with the chainsaw as the chain came off (life threatening) and putting up with Technohermits coffee (life ending) no one noticed the clear avenue, no, they all got an arse on about the apple tree twigs that threatened to scratch the roof paintwork.
Techno got bored watching me clear the way so set off to view his new home. He returned an hour later, "No good" was his verdict. This was a slight problem, the hut is custom made for him, how can it be no good? "Doors jammed, cant get in it" he continued. I see. Well as the chainsaw had just made an enthusiastic attempt on my life I took five to show him round his new home. With some trepidation I approached the door, turned the handle, it opened easily revealing the wondrous interior. "Door Knob!" he yelled excitedly, "I didn't think to try that!"
Once the hi tech turn and go door knob was explained I showed him the light switch, he flicked it, four lights burned bright from the ceiling. He nodded approvingly, "Hows they work, from a battery?" he asked, yes indeed I assured him, he nodded again, "Have I got a battery?" he asked, as the lights were on I told him it was highly likely. He tried the cupboard doors, stamped on the floor and all seemed well in his world. Thankfully help arrived in the form of the builders of this wooden wonder, David and John, before I had to start explaining the modern technology like the solar panel. I got as far as never hit with sticks but left it there.
The savior of the day was Colin who arrived in his super duper Land Rover Defender with all its bells a whistle four by four goodness it heaved the hut heavenward only stopping to untangle it from the apple tree I hadn't thought would get in the way.

Eventually mud and hypothermia caused the end of this merry bands fun and games and we left Techno exploring his new environment with all the bewildered curiosity of a Scottish Panda.

So apart from that nothing interesting happened all day. A big thank you to all who gave so much time and effort to making this happen, especially Colin, Dave and John.
Oh! There was one other thing................

Looking ahead

2011-12-16T20:39:00.002Z

Things didn't go as planned today thanks to the weather, the first real snowfall put a major spanner in the works, thankfully we got our straw under cover yesterday (meant evicting 18 sheep) and Steve the window fitter turned up and er.... fitted a window in the apprentice smallholders room. As the snow put paid to planned journey ( I did try but stationary traffic meant the clock ran out) so I carried on with work associated with the above (future plans will include this detailed map) and assisted with the unloading of a new lair for the Technohermit. It arrived on the back of a low loader and tomorrow I have to work out how to get it half way up the Bonsai Mountain without reducing it to a pile of worthless matchwood. Either it will go well or it will end in tears with a really good video clip to upload on utube. Watch this space.

Top Tip

2011-12-15T22:42:00.001Z

If you are in a hole......

...stop digging!

Then again...........if you are having fun, carry on!

Almost like Christmas

2011-12-14T21:47:00.003Z

It must be getting close to Christmas, we never ever see our post person, even though we know Steve the post exists he's seldom seen. He even signs our recorded post for us and bungs it in a steel box half a mile from the cottage. Today as I was dealing with horses we haven't got a red van with a familiar logo appeared. Things have obviously changed our end of the lane as he got out of the van with his jaw scrapping the floor. "I remember this when it was all fields" he wise cracked. Funny man.
"You should be on telly" I countered, but before I could ask where his cat Jess was he thrust a large parcel in my frozen hands. "Didn't want to leave this at the end of the lane, not at this time of year" he winked theatrically. The contents of my pockets were not suitable for tipping hinting posties unless he wanted half a dozen wet roses wrappers (early opening of half price chocs, guilty) some dog biscuit, a ring pull, string, some Aubious (google it, it plays havoc with zoom lenses) a camera that sometimes works and lots of fluff. He stood watching me as I did the universal patting of pockets ritual when you want to tip but cant. I did eventually give him a tip, "Don't run over the pony as you reverse down the lane, you'll only annoy her"

Simple things

2011-12-13T19:43:00.006Z

Whether its been finding star jelly (last seen some time ago, follow the link)
or walking the Berners in the sunshine in between snow showers (and gale force winds)

or watching the Geminids streak across the night sky, today has been a good day full of simple pleasures. Things are set to get exciting toward the end of the week when the straw arrives the same time as the new window is fitted in the apprentice smallholders room.

Batten down the hatches

2011-12-12T21:30:00.002Z

I spent far longer with the pigs today than I meant to, curiously two had chosen to sleep outside and were very reluctant to give up the two foot deep litter straw they claimed as their own.
The forecast isn't good, 100mph winds and the almost barn is not looking in a good shape but fingers crossed it will survive another winter. The critters don't have the access to technology we have but seem to sense that things are afoot weather wise, predictions are that its the worst weather for 30 years. Ferny Fern Fern from Ferntown has bagged a prime spot next to George, the other 18 Ryelands are all crammed in to the same sized space next door.

New definition

2011-12-11T20:38:00.005Z

The torrential rain has turned what is usually a nice dry pig pen into something that resembles the area in front of the main stage at Glastonbury. A large section of the roof blowing off the amost barn also added to the potential misery of the trainee sausages. Being the kind forward thinking type I had already ordered a lorry load of straw middle of last week. Twice they failed to show up, then I got a call, be with you Friday morning. So here we are Sunday, midday, torrential rain, frogs kayaking in the lane, and the phone rings, be with you Thursday. Cheers. Poor pigs. They risked drowning. Thankfully help was at hand and after giving the secret code words via the miracle of wireless telegraphy (do you want some money?) a cheerful member of the militia turned up in an armoured vehicle and dropped off some more feed for the horses we havent got and some bedding for the pigs.

Two minor difficulties (only two?) one being the bale of straw was around a ton in weight and would need shifting once delivered by hand, and the second was that half an hour previous to the delivery I had been playing with Thor (nothing sordid) the lad likes a back rub, so he got one, and a few carrots and basically a bit of man boar bonding took place. No real dramas, except that when getting in a pigsty with six sows in season I suspect its written somewhere in the how to guide, that you really should avoid physical contact with a boar. The sows were in raptures, firstly over having a new bed delivered, but secondly that yours truly smelt like a male pig (no jokes please) and this led to a rather exciting bed making session for all concerned.

Bridget the biggest Mangalitza made it quite clear she would be first in any que, driving off the competition as I carried the straw through to her boudior by the armful. Being leered at by a female pig (again no jokes, I'll make the necessary ones) is quite disconcerting as you go about your lawful business. Eventually the sexual inuendos became to much to bear so I baled out (see, jokes aplenty) and with Bridget chasing after me grunting the piggie equivlent of take me now or lose me forver I clambered over the the metal work that I hoped would save me from a new pork sensation. Once the safe side of the five bar gate I stopped to watch Bridgets attempt to mate with the remainder of the bale, it now smelling as much like a male pig as me (leave it!)

This was, I thought as I headed back to the safety of the cottage, bringing a whole new meaning to the term humping bales.

Boom Boom!

I thank you!

I'm here all week.

Playing by the rules

2011-12-10T21:02:00.006Z

We play by the rules at Rock HQ, that's why we prosper. So when we started life on the smallholding, alongside the smallholders rules, rules like shut the gate and animals can always get through holes half their body size, we created some hard and fast rules that are designed to ensure things always run smoothly, that nothing gets out of hand. One of those rules, created day one, October 2006 was that we would never have a horse. Animals had to be useful, small and manageable. Not great big cash eating monsters who contribute nothing save for a mountain of number twos everyday.

And I am happy to say that this is a rule we have religiously stuck to. Here at Rock HQ you will find nothing the least bit horse shaped, no giant vegetarian quadrupeds roam consuming vast quantities of food and depositing massive piles of steaming do do that need clearing up.

You wont find any purpose built buildings with electric lights, piped music (prog rock) or radio 4, dependent on the time of day, with automatic water bowls, metal hay racks and assorted horse licks. There simply is no need for a concrete runway laid by hand over a period of 7 weekends for the guzzling hoofed animals to wander over between half ton bales of hay in comfort.

And no matter how hard you look there is no tack room with assorted saddles, horse rugs and an unbelievable amount of assorted horsey nik naks. In fact Rock HQ is the most horse free zone I know. If you don't believe me ask these two, they'll tell you. They cant see one either!

Digging her heels in

2011-12-09T20:57:00.002Z

Hetty is still refusing to use the concrete, even though the boys are showing the way, pointing out its totally safe and the best way to reach the new hayledge bale she can be seen digging her heels in and staying on the muddy patch.

Lets go fly a kite

2011-12-08T22:14:00.002Z

Its been a day of extremes, 165 mph winds across Scotland, pretty similar here at HQ, the slates blew off the chicken house, rain has been horizontal most of the day and all of sound mind sought sanctuary where they could. Yours truly had to brave the elements twice, morning and afternoon routines have to be done whatever the weather. The new hayledge arrived in the teeth of the storm meaning a wrestling competition with the black plastic wrapper that threatened to carry me to another county. Sensible people might have left unwrapping it until the storm subsided but as the majority of critters were undercover and refusing to come to the feed ring then the calories had to be carried to them.
It was amazing weather for kite flying, and a Red Kite did pay a visit on the off chance we had forgotten what clever, successful birds they are.

Nine and a half hours

2011-12-07T22:05:00.002Z

Daylight is at a premium this time of the year, the Technohermit bent my ear over that fact while I dropped off his dinner. The wind was cutting like a knife through the thin woolly pulley I was wearing and I chastised myself for failing to A) put on a coat and B)thinking dropping off dinner to a hermit would ever be a quick and easy job. So as I shivered, he wearing an assortment of animal skins and dirt being toasty warm and windproof, waxed lyrical over how he had calculated that there was 14.5 hours of darkness leaving only 9.5 hours of daylight to get all the jobs done. Presumably jobs included sitting in a cave entrance and waiting for anything edible stupid enough to wander within arms reach. He confidently predicted that by the end of the week there would only be nine hours of daylight left. What did I think of that, well not a lot really, my mind had lost the ability to think and I was seriously concerned that I would be joining the trio of Brass Monkeys sat close by clutching their privates in the vain hope of salvaging something worthwhile.
Finally my audience was over and he retreated into the darkness clutching a foil pack of hot pie, peas and deep fried potato salad aka chips.
I managed to get back to HQ before hypothermia rendered me unconscious and having heard the pontifications about not wasting daylight wondered how the Technohermit would have felt spending one tenth of his daylight hours looking for little Misty. This equine equivalent of a Tasmanian devil was. like Trevor, not where she should be at first light. So I set off to get her from where she shouldn't be and found her not there, Trevor was and he tried to sneak off without being seen but it was too late, busted. So he trotted off to where he should be while I and several Berners searched the Cauldron for the naughty pony.
Search was called off when time ran out and I had to be somewhere else clean and tidy rather than covered in mud. Trevor got his just reward for being a good boy and now being where he should. It was at that point that Misty was found, exactly where she should have been, in her stable waiting for breakfast, and yours truly went to his appointment and then went for an eye test.

Pigs might fly

2011-12-06T21:57:00.002Z

Thor testing the runway. Pigs might fly.

101 uses for an old tyre

2011-12-05T20:44:00.003Z

The spare tyres that were so generously donated for our new year build project, a green house built from tyres, have already begun to come in handy. Heres the first glimpse of the soon to be written 101 uses for an old tyre, breakfast bowls. Since the delivery I have learned that I should have specified they should all be the same size tyre. Ah well live and learn!

Was it all worth it

2011-12-04T21:05:00.005Z

Yesterdays trials involving George(80 half barrow loads of concrete, a full load was too heavy to get up the slope of the gateway) a runaway cow and two missing Shitlands (missing as in the sense of not where they should be, I knew where they shouldn't be, so did they, but as I was mixing a new surface for the Corral OK I left them to work on their apology) left yours truly feeling a tad tuckered out. It took a while to coax me outside but the poor starving critters couldn't manage without me so after three bracing cups of tea I put all thoughts of selling the smallholding out of my mind, manned up and got on with it. First encounter in the lane was with the Pocket Rocket who sort of said sorry and went back to where he should be without a murmur. The concrete had gone off sufficiently to walk on and has for all time preserved the journey of a Bernese Mountain Dog eager to get back to her owners side after doing a number two on the Bonsai Mountain. Bliss had to jump two fences and crawl under the wire of a third to achieve this pattern in the concrete and as it happened when I had technically finished with almost everything put away there was little I could do to remedy the alterations to the desired finish. Considering all the critters that live here it is in fact a minor miracle that along the length of a 36 metre stretch of concrete we only have Bliss's effort at the end.
Hetty was caught mid jump in a brave effort to get into the militias field so was led by the magic of the blue bucket to try out the new facilities.

As can be seen when faced with the choice of standing on lovely clean dry concrete Hetty opts to stand in the remaining mud (soon to be dug out as a drain) Not only does she shun my concrete she does for reasons only known to herself, start to eat the rotting hayledge that yesterday was beneath a ton of stone, dug out by yours truly as I was concerned that its biodegrading might cause instability in the foundation of the concrete. It cant be that she is hungry having eating three breakfasts and around 2 pound of carrots.
Begs the question was it all worth it. Well its not meant for cows so yes it was. And watching Thor thunder up and down the runway certainly raised a smile.

I've started.....

2011-12-03T23:03:00.001Z

.....so I'll finish

Air Con

2011-12-02T22:46:00.002Z

Its like they have a sixth sense, as if they know the jobs list is packed full of more interesting things to do like lay another 40 plus barrow loads of concrete. So the pigs have decided to make a few "minor" alterations to their abode, the almost barn is light and airy at the best of times, but now its a bit more open plan than I had left it. And seeing as today the first snows fell on the surrounding hills I can only assume the pigs are preparing for the afterlife in Mr Whirlpool.

A proper job

2011-12-01T22:20:00.004Z

As I dont have a proper job, according to the Technohermit anyway, I was able to take a trip round the Bonsai Mountain after slaving at the PC for several hours. The midday walkabout served many purpose, firstly it put the next few paragraphs of a report together, it burnt a few excess calories (it is afterall 1sr December so mince pies are aplenty) it exercised the Dolyhir clan and meant that this poor sheep was set free.

The poor wooly back was stuck fast in a loose strand of barbed wire. When I first spotted it all I could see was a strand of wire coated wool waving about erratically. It looked like it was waving in the brreze, but as there was none it caught my interest and so I stayed to watch what was going on. The wooly back clambered out of the ditch along the hedge, saw me and the clan and did what any self respecting sheep would do when faced with a large group of predators, it went mental.

The Bernese sat and watched with mild interest as yours truly clambered over intact barbed wire fence and approached striken beast who was now weilding the unwanted attachment like a cheesewire threatening to sever my legs just below the knees. Hence no pictures as for once yours truly anticipated potential injury and used both hands to wrestle panic striken animal to submission while at the same time fending off barbed wire. Eventually, more by luck than anything else, sheep became unfastened and ran away without so much as a thankyou while I was left in a similar predicament as the one I found the sheep in. Thick lined waterproof trousers saved the day, although the waterproofing is now a bit compromised, and the savage wire was rolled up and tucked behind a post. The entertainment ended, having sucessfully negotiated the fence back onto the Bonsai Mountain, the Berners headed for home with me in tow wondering how many other people get such an exciting lunch break.

In the hot seat

2011-11-30T21:59:00.003Z

Pretty boy Apollo had his supper rudely interrupted by yours truly and for the second time in his short life he was sat on. This time there was a proper camera on to record for posterity all the drama of the event.

Apollo took the weighty intrusion in his non stride and hardly pausing for breath carried on munching while I fidgeted around getting him used to the awkward movements of a seldom jockey. Throughout he was relaxed and calm and showed no psychopathic tendencies so I am hopeful that as the weeks progress we can introduce music and movement into his training schedule.

Something for the weekend?

2011-11-29T22:10:00.002Z

No not an attack of giant rock moles but the latest batch of stone dropped off ready for the concretathon planned for the weekend. Weather and arms permitting.

No fire, just smoke

2011-11-28T22:17:00.004Z

As I am now in charge of my own work I can take a couple of hours here and there to get things progressing at Rock HQ. So last week after an interesting session in Court I called in at the local farmers supermarket to find a hefty 10% off everything (unlike most sales this was off things I wanted like dog food, pig feed, bags of carrots and other exciting goodies) and were giving away bacon butties. Being partial to free bacon butties I stayed a while and pretty soon had purchased 750 kg of pig feed, 150 kg of dog food, 100kg of carrots, 20 kg cat food, head collar, four bales of horse bedding, antiseptic scrub, dog toys, 5 six by four heavy duty stable floor mats and several variety of animal wormer. The mats were a real bargain, almost half price. Happy with my bargains and second butty with free cuppa I was then faced with the slight problem of getting it all back to Rock HQ. It would not fit in Vic. They offered free delivery but without a crane my end to unload off their lorry this was not an option. I left them looking after my purchase and today took Trixie to fetch the monster load.

Getting there was no problem, Hazel hauled Trixie with gay abandon along the country lanes to the store.

Getting back was a bit fretful.

Especially to Trixie and Hazel.

As I pulled out onto the main road I hastily calculated the laden weight, Trixie was able to carry 1000kgs, Hazel could pull 2500 kgs, but the power to weight ratio seemed a bit inadequate as we struggled to reach 20mph. Unable to get out of second gear on the flat I was considering options, phone Stable Sprite get him to bring trailer and buckets and get some weight off Trixie, no too easy, instead I prayed to the small god of haulage and promised never to fully load my trailer again if we got home safely. As we slowed to walking pace on the merest of inclines I resorted to threatening Hazel with the car auction if she didn't behave and start doing what she was kept for.

Over the course of the 5 mile journey I didn't get out of third gear, Hazel dutifully pulled Trixie but clearly was not happy. At the junction before the home stretch to the Bonsai Mountain the massive rear view mirrors showed the first signs of the evening fog emerging. It had a feint blue hue.

The plod up the slope of the mountain was pitiful. I had to stop to open the gateway to our world, I say stop, I could have stepped out of the moving vehicle so slow was our rate of progress. Gate opened I just hoped Hazel could do her stuff for the last 3/10 of a mile.

Blue smoke billowed from Trixie's wheels and a very familiar smell could be detected.

Hazel coped amazingly well with the last section of the journey. Its surprising how much better she was at towing Trixie once the trailers handbrake was released!

Life begins at Forty

2011-11-27T21:08:00.008Z

All thoughts of an enthusiastic early doors start on the Rock HQ runway evaporated seconds after the alarm clock dragged me back from the land of nod. The howling gale and sound of rain hammering the bedroom window a clue to the prevailing concreting conditions. Time passed inspecting the insides of my eyelids until apprentice smallholder let me know that now was not the time for sleeping, it was time for action. Serried ranks of marmite soldiers were dealt with and then I went out into the elements to play spot the pig amongst the Ryelands, goat and dog. That puzzle solved, the weather brightening, the main task of the day was addressed. George was sleeping peacefully in the shed, gleaming as new, and we looked at how far one man and his mixer have come since we started the project. It looked good, but we had a lot to do.

George was pressed into action and as usual a major help. Rocky on the other hand was his usual hindrance. Steve the electrician arrived and replaced our disabled Anti Aircraft light. The monster light he installed illuminates the whole of the runway so any unauthorised landings will be dealt with day or night.

Three and a half hours later 40 mixes were laid and thankfully I ran out of stone and light before energy. It was a close run thing. I manned up for the late routine which included moving the 24 bags of cement needed to finish the runway and clear and clean the gear. Pigs were fed (curiously they didn't escape today) so finally thoughts turned to the plan for the day. Sit on my pretty boy pony. Strange sounds were emanating from his stall as I wearily approached.
Should I get on him considering my arms feel like lead, my back aches, a good sit down was needed but not necessarily on a horse.
Then theres the fact that I'm in a confined space, hard floor, harder hooves, in all I was feeling more enthusiastic about punching myself in the face than climbing on my pony. The weird noises were louder, lots of banging, bumping and the horsey equivalent of "Ouch" and "Oh Bugger" every now and then. Was Apollo was psyching himself up to deal with me?

Every picture tells a story. This one tells the story of a pony who is, to be fair, a few paste sandwiches short of a picnic, dressed in his splendid new coat, having, what is technically known as, a spot of bother. The head end is closest, his ears are where his whithers should be. Fifteen minutes later horse was rescued by would be rider and both of us decided that we would give further complications like me falling off and hitching a ride in the air ambulance a miss today.

Inflation rate

2011-11-26T19:26:00.004Z

The day didn't go quite as planned (it seldom does) and as the gale force winds and "occasional" showers put the mockers on any plan to concrete we set out from the sanctuary of Rock HQ to view our two new additions to the critters, Rudy and Roscoe. This entailed a 130 mile round trip across three counties but the militia who was selling had offered us a fairish deal which tempted us to venture out. The only outcome of our travels was a precise calculation of the rate of inflation. Excluding fuel costs the current rate of inflation is 61.5p per mile. This was how much in price each animal ad risen in cost by the time we viewed them. The agreed £250 was when outside their stall £300 plus £30 pedigree registration.

Thankfully good sense prevailed and it was a deal we could walk away from. The annoying thing is that this is the second time this has happened, we agree a price and then get there and its all change. Perhaps the militia think that once we have been coaxed out we would buy rather than waste our time.

As we were in the vicinity of shops the opportunity was taken to go to a toy mega store to treat the apprentice smallholder to a new plaything. The curious thing was that within the mega shop of cathedral sized proportions containing every plaything a generous parent would want to purchase to occupy their offspring we could not find the one item we wanted for our apprentice smallholder. A ball. If we wanted a fluorescent plastic scale model of the Eiffel Tower that would transform into a racing bike that fired marshmallows while telling him his times tables, there was lots of those, or a book with moving pictures and voices that matched the hand held TV that looked like a dog, plenty, but a plain and simple ball. Not a hope. There was one but it was helium filled, squeaked and changed colours when it broke ornaments, so we decided to give it a miss.

Back on the ranch my plan to concrete another section of the planet was still on hold as the failing light and other routine tasks got in the way. I cleared a mountain of horse offerings from both stables and for some insane reason thought that an appropriate reward for my labour was to sit on my pretty boy pony Apollo. I am not sure this can be referred to as "backing", a term bandied around by the horsey set, but Apollo has never been sat on before. We do have a good relationship though, I stuff money in his mouth and clear up after him (bit like teenagers really) as I have had him since he was a puppy, hes now 3 years and substantial enough to support yours truly's considerable bulk.

How good our relationship is was tested tonight, I put some appropriate music on, a track by Racing Cars, "They shoot horses don't they" (as a warning), placed a very insubstantial mounting block next to the bewildered beasts side, tucked a rubber mallet into my belt (just in case he had any funny ideas like moving) said what I could remember of Psalm 23 and cocked a welly clad leg over. Apollo looked idly over his shoulder and sensing something was different braced for impact as the rest of me sank heavily onto his untried frame.

And there we stood, or sat, depending on which one of us we were. I even felt confident enough to take a riders eye view pic with phone, which was now playing "Crazy Horses" by the Osmond's.

Like all those who live to fight another day I pulled the eject handle before things got messy, like me squished all over the stable floor. Apollo's a long way from being broken in, but he didn't break when sat on, didn't kill me and tomorrow as a reward for all the concreting I am going to repeat the process, this time with a proper camera on hand to record in graphic detail any injuries sustained!

Nothing planned

2011-11-25T22:17:00.002Z

While rubbing shoulders with some Barrister types today the subject of the weekend came up.

How were we spending our free time. Most had nothing planned, those that did were along the lines of clean the car, cinema, meals out, shopping, catch up with parenting, squash league. Attention turned to the lowly social worker type at the end of the table, how about you, anything planned? Me? Nothing really. Going to view Rudy and Roscoe and mixing 76 barrow loads of cement. A quiet weekend really.

Rudy?

2011-11-24T22:23:00.000Z

Or Roscoe?

Missed your chance

2011-11-23T20:42:00.004Z

Ever get the feeling someones out to get you, or you re being watched?

Me too.

I had suspected for a while that my activity was being monitored, my every move scrutinised, watching, waiting, looking for a chance to create problems for me because they had nothing better or more productive to do with their time.

In the end they really couldn't help them self and had to break cover, pigs (real ones not metaphorical) of various sizes ran from the cauldron towards yours truly as I ran from Vic for the sanctuary of the cottage. The pork Tsunami broke on the yard and scattered dogs, cats and poultry while I changed from social worker to smallholder in record time. Armed with magic blue bucket (empty) I reassured bipeds of HQ that I would entice pork horde back to quarters and be back in time for tea and medals. Pork horde had other ideas and having fell for empty blue bucket once too often headed north at a brisk pace and showed no signs of returning as they disappeared from view.

Meanwhile, having discovered pigs no longer fooled by empty bucket I took a quick detour and collected a bucket full, which soon became half full having been mugged by Ferny Fern Fern from Ferntown. Nevertheless contents of bucket were shaken in a provocative manner towards last sighting of pigs and the universal "Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrmoooonah!!" along with "Piggy Pig Pig!" was hollered in the vain hope that the awol sausage factories would about turn and come quietly.

I was mightily impressed as they crested the brow of the hill in unison and at full speed. In fact they appeared quite anxious to comply with the piggy pig pig request and I turned to monitor the gate, pouring the pig feed theatrically into the trough as extra encouragement for the fastest of the racing pigs.

Actually they were getting all the encouragement they needed to proceed with haste back to the pig pen in the form of a huge yellow JCB travelling south with its bucket down ready to scoop up any pork that showed the least sign of resistance.

Safely shut away the pigs got on with supper while Steve and I got on with preparing the way for next weekends concreting. The mountain of stone used to create our runway (I say our, I mean mine and the voices in my head) is now in the spot where the next pad needs to be laid. Faced with ten hours shovelling or ten minutes chatting over a cuppa with Steve I chose tea. The scene is now set for the final push to completion. And then Roscoe and Rudy can come and stay.

Sing if youre winning

2011-11-21T21:09:00.004Z

The low cloud and heavy rain could have put a real downer on the day.Pulling on yesterdays mud caked wet clothing really wasn't my favourite part of the day, neither was finding a helpful Berner had moved an equally mud covered boot out into the rain the happiest of moments.

The poor Ryelands looked wretched as they considered the pros and cons of staying out in the rain for breakfast or seeking shelter. The lure of calories temporarily brought them from under the eaves of the cottage.

The winners were the boys, they were reinstated in their luxury appointed stables yesterday forsaking the mud of Willow Rise and Oak Bank for dry bedding and piped music (prog rock) Thor was also winning as he is in the med bay on a deep bed of soft hay at the back of the stable with hot and cold running apples. Poor lad has developed a limp, the fact that this coincided with torrential rain and his favourite pony being put indoors is surely just a coincidence.
So as the icy rain ran down my back and my dry boot became wetter than the wet one when it stayed in the mud of the pig pen while I carried on a few steps it had the makings of a real SOHF day.
But as my day starts with beaming smiles from our apprentice smallholder I just felt like singing.
Sing if your winning.

Runway extension approved

2011-11-20T21:00:00.009Z

I thought yesterday was tough, getting one ton of pig feed out of Trixie and stored safely (The Ryelands were incapacitated by locking them in the stable, the piglets on the other hand... two bags knocked over in preference to the nice platefuls left for them..Bless their little trotters!) and then wrestling a super sized American food centre fridge that died a few weeks ago cooking the food rather than keeping it cool into the space created in Trixie before taking it to "The Freighter" in the co ops car park where helpful operatives watched yours truly hurt himself unloading useless gargantuan white good into their can be bothered to help range where they stuck it on a tail lift and launched it to planet Zanussi. All before 9am.

After a late full cooked I could be seen clearing the concrete runway of horse and cow debris before getting side tracked into the convert the kennel block into cowshed project. Several hours with a sledgehammer, hacksaw and power drill saw a reasonable sized opening created and a myriad of new oaths directed towards Karl, our helper from 2008 who disappeared in the Burmese jungle soon after constructing the kennels, and who's random use of four by four, six inch nails and total denial of the right angle meant that a simple cut an opening task became a figure out which bit I can cut without causing catastrophic structural failure and head injuries game.

All that meant no time to extend the runway.
By midday today enough was enough and Battle lines were drawn and Spotty helpfully took up post in a convenient fox hole while yours truly worked around the furry lump and mixed 26 barrow loads before sunsetting stopped play.

By then it was all I could do to carry the 15kg of carrots to the pigs where we played fetch the crunchy orange calorie.

Next weekend should see us take the hard stuff out to the gateway . Its really starting to look like the plan to finish before Christmas will be achieved, and that's Christmas 2011!

Gentlemans excuse me!

2011-11-19T19:35:00.004Z

Crispen was caught taking liberties at the breakfast table with Springtime.

Thinking she was otherwise engaged he sought to have his wicked way with her.
Springtime had other ideas and showed she was not such a captive audience for the randy rams advances and after a quick up and over
she managed to finish breakfast with her honour intact.

Trick pony

2011-11-18T22:26:00.002Z

Messing with the posh camera settings has some strange effects on the pocket rocket. The red highlights in his mane are completely natural though.

Heidi strikes again

2011-11-18T22:16:00.003Z

Our pet ghost struck again yesterday, the missing bank card turned up where yours truly had last seen it, more or less, give or take 100 miles and 45 centimetres. I had left it, I was certain, in the centre console of Vic. No amount of searching Vic by my beautiful and oh so patient wife revealed where I had put it, and as the house keys were also missing (see previous Heidi post) it was attributed to our mischievous Heidi ghost. New bank card arrived, all was well yesterday apart from having to drive across the county with a sat nav with a sense of humour who for a whole 35 minutes kept me 4.3 miles from my destination, no matter how many turn rights I did. During this episode I had pull into a layby to answer a call of nature behind a hedge. On my return the bank card was situated as above. Now Vic has been driven by both myself and the patient one several times since the card went, and as it was so clean it wasn't buried in the mud on the mats. So, logical explanations on a postcard please!

One of those

2011-11-17T20:54:00.007Z

We get them from time to time, walkers.

Being a walker myself I am happy to welcome one of the fraternity as they pass through, usually with a cheery "Of course, just up there keep the hedge to your right and the hill to your left" in response to their plaintive "Does the footpath go through here?"

Often further pleasantries are exchanged, distance walked, lovely spot, wouldn't like your feed bill, Welsh Border Collie? never heard of them, big aren't they? (In response to what sort of dog is that, Bernese, once, that's an odd dog, its a goat that's why)

Sometimes beverages are offered, rocks looked after (geologists are a funny lot) Orthodox Jews are put on the right path (literally not metaphorically) even sausages given on one really exceptional occasion (well they were the nicest walkers ever) in all walkers are welcome. Yours truly has trudged many a mile through foreign lands, militias farms, fended off wild beasts and crossed many an obstacle left by landowners.

I now realise that despite my credentials as a walker (186 miles in six days) I have crossed to the other side, I, or rather the bank, own land and this means that every now and then a walker feels they have to be obnoxious, for no apparent reason other than they think we are on different sides so seek to reinforce certain prejudices.

So there I am up to my arm pits in mud, trying not to drop a super heavy cast iron drain cover down the well, at the same time as this gravity defying drama plays out I am fending off curious pony and annoying pig (they are a strange pair) I am on the point of winning on all fronts when Bliss, a Welsh Border Collie (Bernese Mountain Dog) alerts me to the presence of a new threat. Suddenly out of the mist a fat bloke looking like he has just fell out of the pages of a Millet's outdoor catalogue lurches into view and stands silently ten yards from me and the well conundrum. Bliss, tail wagging trots dutifully towards me as I heave heavy metal to one side and shout "Morning, come on through"

Fat bloke in full Arctic expedition gear stands motionless looking at me, mud monster, pig, horse, dog, back to me. I wave him through "Paths that way" he still just stands there.

Sudden sinking feeling(unrelated to well problem) the walker is one of those who should have the third letter substituted. I climb the fence into the lane and encourage pig and dog to follow, they do. Bliss is put in conservatory where she can watch events unfold. Pig and man follow silently. Pig shut in stable. Man walks by in silence, close enough for us to have shaken hands, map case jangling with compass and whistle, his chubby gloved hands clutching a high energy bar that he is cramming into his hamster like face. He still stares at me in silence.

I break first. "Would it hurt that much just to say good morning"

More silent stares.

I walk back to the well, definitely one of those.

SOHF sets in, "This is my garden you're walking through you know, it wouldn't hurt to be polite" I shout over my mud spattered shoulder.

"Public footpath" he splutters back with oaty accompaniment.

I carry on, the well is well covered.

He staggers past our pigs.

In the distance I hear a dog bark, the Millet's man has made it to the land of the Oracle.

I see Oracle later on in the day.

Word is that a walker has passed through and felt the need to comment on our pigs being muddy. Poor pigs he said.

The only way to keep a pig clean is to keep it on concrete said the Oracle.

The man nodded.

A pig kept on concrete is an unhappy pig the Oracle continued. You ought to try living in the country not visiting it and complaining.

The fat Millet's advert broke out a Kendal Mint Cake and waddled off toward the bus stop.

He was one of those.

The Oracle agreed.

Spare tyre

2011-11-16T21:07:00.002Z

The camera gremlins have been evicted, well and truly. The poor shop manager who really hoped he had seen the last of me and my SOHF when he gave me a brand new version a few months back was super helpful when I explained that the new one was as good as the old one, useless. I was instantly invited to choose a different make and so have a Nikon to break now. In fact two Nikons as I was given a DSLR as a present and have the pocket version to us day to day.

Exciting photo opportunities are everywhere at HQ, so here are a few of the spare tyres left by a generous donor for our green house project. Not looking forward to the inflating them with dirt part of the plan and I now realise I should have specified they should all be the same size, however these will all be put to use, eventually.

The equine members of the gang have taken to the new concrete floor in the Corral OK, if taking to it means avoiding at all cost. They can be found everywhere except stood on the hard stuff. This includes on top of the mountain of gravel, back in the mud or balancing on the well top. Misty has tried to help clear up the mud by wearing it.

Future plans

2011-11-15T21:53:00.002Z

As so often the case, before one job is finished, in this case the concreting, the next project is already lined up. Poor time management means I have failed to get a picture of the necessary materials for the grand design that is sort of on the drawing board, but tomorrow I shall take a very arty shot of the 400 tyres that appeared next to Trixie while we were away. What we intend to do with the free waste product will be revealed much later. Meanwhile I am hoping the environmental agency responsible for tractor tyre disposal have got off to a slow start as six very useful large wheel covers have appeared in the local brook. They will make a very useful addition to the overall grand design. The futures greener here at Rock HQ.

Meanwhile back in the real world!

2011-11-14T20:49:00.005Z

Normal service has been resumed. Regular visitors might have wondered where the daily update had gone, perhaps assuming the techno gremlins had got us again, or more likely BT failing us, but no, we abandoned our life of animal magic and muddy mayhem for a weekend break at Centre Parcs where for a couple of days we exchanged smallholding and all its wholesome goodness for sports, swimming, cafes, saunas, firework displays, reindeer's and Father Christmas' workshop. It was really good fun, a complete change to be totally clean and as we went with our apprentice smallholder, his big sister and partner and super grandma there were several firsts, such as "swimming" and dressing him up as a reindeer. Thanks to all those that ensured Rock HQ ran smoothly without us, especially Stable Sprite for feeding all and sundry (I had left the feed room door open which the critters took as an invitation for take aways but luckily no harm done) and to our hired gun who spent 9 hours trying to persuade a Bernese dog to get out of the garden and back into the cottage. In all we had a great time, so many memories, nearly as many photos, the new camera was experimented with and some of the results will be published once I work out how it works, but we missed HQ and the critters so it was good to go but better to come back. We didn't miss the mud though. Not at all.

One thing after another

2011-11-10T20:51:00.005Z

Its been a Sam and everything day, one small disaster after another which looking back will be funny but all have served to create mayhem here at Rock HQ. First light there was a very loud Moo, my shell likes detected that the utterer of the Moo was a lot closer to Rock HQ than she should be and definitely the wrong side of the cottage from where she was left. Yes Hetty was now back in the garden having jumped two fences and negotiated an open gate (left open not by the PGOOR but by the SAS) and was loudly complaining of the bullying antics of the Pocket Rocket who had forced her from the breakfast table. Time was too short to sort her or him out so she was fed and told to get on with life until naughty pony was spoken to about sharing.

First light also provided an opportunity to find bank card, bank card loss is serious matter but as it was lost between Vic and front door its unlikely that empty bank account is going to be further depleted by ner do wells. It was high on the embarrassing factor though as bank card was new bank card replaced by bank after I had lost first one in car park in town a few weeks ago. This set off a real comedy of errors as bank replaced lost card by posting new one to old address, several visits to bank where I explained carefully that I lived where they sent my bank statements and could I please have my new card, not to a house I used to live in five years ago. This was then sent but no pin number, that was sent to old house too, twice, finally new card arrived, old number failed to work it, new card seized, new card, new number arrived, both at right house but new number failed to buy petrol as new number needs to be activated at banks cashpoint, as no banks cashpoint is in our town (two horse towns don't need a choice of cashpoints) cannot activate card but can draw cash from other banks machine, no real problem except now lost new card. Goat eaten card is likely scenario as evil beast followed me around but feel less than inclined to report animal consuming plastic to bank so after long and pointless search under gloating scrutiny of evil horned beast decide to fess up and report I need new card to bank.

The bank card pales in insignificance compared to the lost keys saga. Front door key is kept where I cannot lose it, in the front door. Yesterday while looking for bank card found self shut out of HQ. Beautiful and oh so patient wife let muddy SOHF monster in mumbling about goats and cashpoints and dutifully joined in search for card and keys. No keys. This morning after three hours were expended on searching for keys and similar on card I was stood by kettle making refreshing beverage pondering how do we get cash from bank to buy new locks when a stifled cry from beautiful and oh so patient one alerted me to strange turn of events. Keys had now been found, centre of dining table, next to my car key and glasses. Now how two people managed to miss keys centre of well lit table, next to car key and glasses, a table that I checked several times is a mystery. Tracey is not prone to practical jokes, I am, but I know better than to play one that wastes so much of my true loves precious time so neither of us were responsible. That leaves only one explanation, Heidi the ghost. Heidi does exactly what her name suggests, she hides things. So far bank card has not been returned but we were grateful for the keys.

The SAS launched a joint attack on the large metal object in the kitchen we laughingly refer to as a cooker. The two highly trained SAS operatives frightened the rayburn into submission and it roared into life. They left, so did its cooperation and its back to sulking in the kitchen refusing to bake beans. They also left gate open see top of page for consequence.

Faced with sandwiches again I was stood contemplating ham or fish and just mentioned to patient one that at least nothing else could go wrong. It was at that point six black and white rabbits hopped past the kitchen window followed closely by a small pig.

The difference a day makes!

2011-11-09T23:19:00.003Z

Speed eating competition, on your marks!Get set!

Go!!!!

And the winner is!

Ambrose. OEGDQ!

Its rollover week!

2011-11-08T20:18:00.003Z

I did wonder what Ambrose was looking at as I wandered about the smallholding this foggy damp autumn morning. Perhaps he was mourning the loss of breakfast to the ravenous Ryelands. Or contemplating jumping into the field belonging to the militia, or, more likely, calculating the angles needed to, in goat terms, drop the nod on Montana who was busy licking the trough clean.

A sudden movement alerted me to the plight of Roxy, shes the barrel like object upside down to the left of the trough. Now it may seem callous pausing to picture her plight, but as this is Roxy the death wish sheep it seemed only right and proper to preserve for posterity her latest attempt to shuffle off her mortal coil.

Not sure how she managed this, the trough is too big to pose a trip hazard to even the clumsiest sheep, but manage she did and at the point of rescue was firmly wedged upside down in the gap between logs and food receptacle. Left to her own devices her internal organs would have crushed the air out of her lungs and her attempt to be the first of the flock to the here after would have been successful.

Thankfully her guardian angel, yours truly, was on hand to sort her out again, and once the world stopped spinning she boldly went in search of new ways of hurting herself.

Its never boring being a smallholder.

Hetty in the middle

2011-11-07T22:31:00.003Z

Breakfast with Thor

is an exercise in patience

and speed eating to stop him sitting on it.

Moving on

2011-11-06T21:15:00.003Z

The tomato plants have been evicted from the greenhouse after failing to provide enough tomatoes for the time and effort expended on them. The beef tomato plants were a particular disappointment on two fronts, firstly they were not as big as expected and secondly they tasted like damp mouldy cardboard with the consistency of dead moths. The little cherry types were fantastic and those that survived the attentions of the hordes of snails lurking within the greenhouse rarely made it from the green house to salad bowl as they were like sweeties and scoffed as soon as picked. The empty greenhouse now has a second use as a temporary home for the small fowl above. The two Lilac Pekin Bantams survived the vermin cat chicken take away escapade and seem none the worse for wear. The two larger Buff Orpingtons are the chicks are the survivors of the small group we found in the hen house a while back while the smaller bantam versions were hatched from eggs found under a duck in the goose house and placed in the incubator.

Rocky's fascination with hard work continues, he can watch it all day. Not quite so much time was spent fashioning the Rock HQ runway today but the arrival of number one son, he who cannot be named, meant that it was all done double quick time. Or it would have been had be not made me guess the top ten most catchy pop/rock songs in the history of the world ever honest it was a scientific survey. As my knowledge of music starts and ends with prog rock heavy metal with a brief foray into 80's synthesiser I was on a hiding to nothing and his miming such iconic anthems as whats that coming over the hill is it a monster (number one apparently, not in the top ten but a number one hit) meant more time devoted to pointing and laughing rather than buckling down and shovelling.

Still we got there, I guessed all ten tracks, the monster one definitely is a catchy one as just one chorus from he who cannot be named and its going round and round my head like a deranged claustrophobic goldfish.

Little and None

2011-11-05T21:07:00.010Z

The monster job of creating a playground for the critters continued today, thankfully in glorious autumn sunshine again. It was a long day, but fueled by two cans of tango, four cups of tea and a Topic (a hazelnut in every bite, they still make them) and half a date and cherry sconethe concrete pad was extended by 7 metres. As ever George was an excellent assistant, the same cannot be said for Rocky and Reba, Rocky's contribution was to "guard" the 15 ton pile of stone while Reba added her own unique touch to the first few barrow loads.
She also sat in the way, often
then thought the best place to be was actually in the sand bag I was using.
At least she asked before helping herself to the last half of the date and cherry scone brought out to me by my beautiful and oh so patient wife Tracey. End of play saw a lovely smooth concrete pad, the chances of it making through the night unscathed are remote, having already chased off two of the three little pigs who wanted to add to Reba's artistic talent I think there are two chances of finding a smooth pad on the morrow, little and none.
Hopefully tomorrow will be another clear day weather wise and we can get a bit more done, George doesnt suffer aching limbs like me and after all todays hard work he still looks as good as new.

Highs and lows

2011-11-04T20:48:00.003Z

We think there might be a problem with one of the bumble bee size quails, it hasn't, until this afternoon, lay on its side and run round in circles, so somethings not quite right unless its a freestyle quail break dance champ aged five days. The other one sits and watches with interest but thankfully has not copied this unique behaviour. Plans to rehouse the bumbles into a newly acquired plastic fish tank have been put on hold while we figure out how regulate the temperature. Key to maintaining a constant temperature in Rock HQ is the Rayburn.

The temperamental beast has thrown another wobbly and refused to heat up or do anything remotely associated with cooking for the last 24 hours and despite yours truly getting on his hands and knees and prodding around with its internals, relighting the new wicks it steadfastly refused to contribute to the scrambled eggs I wanted for supper. I chose to ignore the poor behaviour and showed my contempt by using the single electric hob, the type that frequently inhabits bedsit land, purchased after the last sulky shut down forced the consumption of sandwiches, soggies (cereal) and take-away until the arrival of the SAS forced the heavy metal paperweight to cooperate.

Have pig, will travel

2011-11-03T21:48:00.002Z

Pretty boy Apollo and his pet pig Thor, not sure why they like each other but they are almost inseparable. Here they are about 1km from Rock HQ but heading in the right direction for a change.

Starting small

2011-11-02T22:00:00.002Z

These two little dots, no bigger than bumble bees when they hatched are now four days old. Chinese quail, from a batch of six eggs placed with more hope than expectation in the incubator and left to get on with it. Two have hatched and so far have not drowned, got eaten by vermin cats or died of hypothermia.

Sat against a 50p you can see how tiny these new additions are!

Happy Harvest Ahead

2011-11-01T22:00:00.004Z

We might not have done very well with the apple harvest this year on the Bonsai Mountain but we have got a bumper crop of Sloes which are one of the key ingredients to a very warming tipple, Sloe Gin.

These sour little berries only need a good frost and then they will be ready for picking, pricking with a thorn from the tree, mixed with sugar and dropped in a vat of cheap gin. Months later you get a fantastic fruit based beverage. The only down side is it seems to evaporate, I mean the bottles just empty!

Under seige

2011-10-31T21:04:00.003Z

"Are any of your pigs meant to be out?" Not the usual opening gambit to a telephone call at work. Supergrandma was looking after the apprentice smallholder for an hour or three while chores were being done. I confirmed that all pigs were not out, they should all be in. "You've not let any in the garden then?" the description of the Somme like mess as garden hung in the air for a second, "No none are supposed to be in the garden". Thoughts of fence climbing pig causing mayhem, must raise fence height, electrify current fence, shoot pig or get it a trampoline to keep it occupied, all options considered.

"There might be a little one out, she climbs fences" more silence.

"Theres more than one out, theres big ones, little ones, white ones, black ones and ginger ones with dots on"

That's all of them then.

Persuaded Supergrandma not to go and wrestle pigs back into pen, she and beautiful and oh so patient wife were to wait the hunter gatherers return.

On return, in the dark, Rock HQ was under siege. All pigs were engaged in an assault on the front door.Several gates lay on the floor having failed to prevent progress of rampaging porkers, this included the ornate metal gate by the front door. Pammy and Bridget were in the process of turning the green trolley into a battering ram, Guinevere and the two baby boars were constructing a rudimentary trebuchet while Rosie the Red piglet tried to recruit the rabbits to the cause. Iggle and Piggle favoured the direct approach and were front trotters on windowsill looking in, snouts pressed to the window like orphans from a Dickensian novel. Vic's arrival curtailed their mass attack on the cottage and they raced around him like native Americans in a cliche ridden wild west film.

Thankfully they respected yours truly personal space (or his size 10's)and followed him Pied Piper stylee back to the slammer where they got extra rations for compliance.

Only Morgana was missing.

The big and beautiful Berkshire pig had love on her mind and had spent her unexpected free afternoon in search of Thor.

And what had this hunk of male piggy done while there were six females of different breeds and sizes making them self available to him?

Hidden behind his horse trembling.

I am beggining to have doubts about his commitment as well as ability!

Seeing things

2011-10-30T20:14:00.002Z

The weather was kind to us today as the concretathon continued in the Corral OK. The ponies and Thor watched from the battlefield of Oak Bank and urged us to get the job done quickly so they could have dry hooves. The downpour overnight meant part of the morning was spent digging the drainage ditch that will go alongside the concrete pad but by 9.45 George was in action.

I must admit to having a bit of a downer for the first four barrow loads, then a whole host of why am I doing this thoughts for the next four, followed by some really dark thoughts as the next four loads combined with the previous only covered the first three feet. As we were doing over 15 feet even with my math it was going to be a long day.
Perseverance is the key and slowly slowly the mountain of dry ingredients was transformed into a very neat concrete pad. Rocky kept me company for part of the day, he replaced Spotty who dutifully watched every shovel full and followed every barrow load and didn't put a paw wrong. Rocky on the other paw thought his best occupation was to be a trip hazard or to drain the buckets of water.
Mid afternoon saw the days task completed. I chose to ignore the mangalitza piglet digging up the driveway, putting it down to a figment on my imagination. This was a very active figment who just before dark climbed the fence and returned to the pig pen when the evening carrots were delivered.

This time Rocky managed to resist the temptation to add an interesting pattern to the concrete pad.

MIA cows and carpet bombing pigs

2011-10-29T21:08:00.009+01:00

As dawn began its hike over the Bonsai Mountain I was already repairing fences. The three little pigs had been making their presence known by leaving craters all along the grass verges of the drive and across what was left of the "garden". Access to all areas had to be prevented hence my early appearance with various bits of wood, wire, screws, nails, staples, power tools and several sharp or heavy objects that, given the lack of daylight and my capacity for self harm, in normal circumstances would have required me to have at least supervision and more likely, help. However these were not normal circumstances, today was a big day, we had the final day of skills to foster training to deliver and an exhibition to put on inviting applications from would be fosterers. Time was tight, the fence repair went smoothly and all would have been well except for one minor detail. Repairing fences on pig pen should not go smoothly, there should be a cow shaped fly in the ointment.
Fully prepared for that eventuality I had taken along with all other fence repair essentials a bucket of feed to keep said cow occupied rather than have her investigate (read get in way) of repairs. Hetty was conspicuous by her absence. Rocky took advantage of lack of cow by eating a hearty breakfast. Search of perimeter was cowless, cow was definitely MIA, last seen 11.40pm in greenhouse asleep.
Clock ticking search pattern widened to militias field.
A dozen or so black cows grazed in the half light, none looked guilty.
Not ours then.
Clock ticked on.
Retraced search and extended to The Cauldron, if cow not there then search will have to abandoned.
Several high speed sheep exit the entrance to The Cauldron gave a tiny clue that a tiny cow was playing chase. Hetty thundered into the lane to be confronted by me in my finest matador pose. Thankfully she skidded to a halt and right turned into the back of the Corral OK where she was treated as hero by the ponies. Chastisements for all will have to wait there were lots of jobs to do.
Exhibition went well, lots of meeting and greeting, lots of interest and application packs dished out along with free pens and cards.

Help was at hand, the apprentice smallholder and The Godfather kept the troops entertained and in all the day was a great success. A good group completed the training and we had a brilliant buffet lunch where everyone chipped in with a plate of goodies. I ate more than my share of fresh crab and apple cake (two items ate separately, not together, that would be weird) I locked up and set off home a happy man, especially as the pigs would have been thwarted in their attempt to defoliate the garden.

Unfortunately the pigs had other ideas and had attacked en masse.

The resulting damage looked like the "garden" had been carpet bombed.

How had this happened?

Had they breached the extra security?

Had the repair work not held?

No, it was all intact.

They had simply used the almost barn door as an exit.

A barn door left open.

Left open by someone in a hurry.

In a hurry looking for a cow.

Outside looking in

2011-10-28T22:25:00.002+01:00

Thor got himself the wrong side of the ring feeder and being a ham sandwich short of a picnic stayed there until help arrived. Meanwhile the Mangalitza piglets have found another way out of the pig pen, its so secret that they forget how they have got out and run around the outside squealing like...erm...well pigs really until yours truly opens the gate and stops them exercising the calories off.

One size fits all

2011-10-27T22:46:00.003+01:00

Thor the Bernese Mountain Pig trying the soon to be drainage ditch for size.

Night fighting

2011-10-26T22:08:00.004+01:00

Late last night as we did the last checks before bedtime and shut the geese away it was horribly clear that for three, Rupert, Storm and Sunny the walk back to the goose house was the last thing they did. Their bodies were scattered across the Corral OK where they had tried to escape the fox, those that did were in the goose house, the three that didn't testimony to the foxes murderous antics. No sign of fox, except for tracks, and nothing eaten off the dead birds. Why it left them or why it stopped short of killing the remaining birds we can only speculate, maybe Thor came along and frightened the cowardly vermin off. Steps have been taken to try and outwit Mr Fox, hopefully it arrives this weekend, meantime increased patrols armed with a gun are on the agenda.

This massive pile of stone arrived today ready to be turned into a hard floor in the Corral OK. Sunday is going to be a busy day!

Sheepfight at the Corral OK!

2011-10-25T19:35:00.008+01:00

I've lost count the number of times I have been out looking for Pedro, or for how long he has been missing. An all points bulletin has been posted for the wandering Romeo, various militia have been round asking if we have got him back, some friendly, one particularly unfriendly claiming all sorts of laws had been broken if Pedro had violated any of his girls. This militia member has short term memory problems as not so long ago, well perhaps two winters, his ram moved in with our flock for weeks, gave them all pink eye before he was secretly spirited away one dark evening. Only 4x4 tracks in the snow and an empty space the clue that we had had visitors. Anyway Pedro broke cover in front of me early evening as I walked the Berners around the Bonsai Mountain.

Trying to sneak up on the naughty Ryeland and his wild girls was not easy, especially as the Berners wanted to go first and totally ruined any element of stealth. Eventually I got between him and Rock HQ and with a lot of luck managed to get him and his two mental companions to run towards home. Having phoned ahead my beautiful and oh so patient wife met the trio in the cauldron and Pedro sensing calories in the magic blue bucket headed in approximately the right direction. At this point Montana executed a fantastic move referred to "heading them off at the pass" and single pawed prevented progress and sent the three sheep uphill again and round the back of Rock HQ.

I kept up the pursuit as fast as a fat forty something can manage but the terrain and flora conspired against me but just before they totally disappeared from view I saw a sudden change of direction with Pedro in the lead they were skirting the cliff at the back of the cottage.

The sudden lack of horizontal surface to run along impeded their progress and I was able to catch up again and with Spotty "helping" managed to steer them to the lane where the rest of our little flockers were having a bonus feed in an effort to demonstrate how much fun it is to be a pampered Ryeland as opposed to joining the wild life. Pedro saw sense in this but as his ladies ran up the lane, back toward the cauldron and the wilderness beyond, he thought with his purse rather than his brain and shot off after them. This caused a massive SOHF on my part and I ran after them in the vain hope I could outrun him. Thankfully the fugitive turned left in the yard and he and the girls ran into the Corral OK. Realising their mistake they spun on their heels and charged back again but the sight of me slamming the five bar gate called a temporary halt to their antics.

The scene was set for a show down. Manno et Sheepo. Only one was going to leave this Corral standing. The four sheep advanced (an extra one had joined in sensing an easy victory) Spotty attempted to join me but was called back, this was my fight. Some times a mans gotta do what a mans gotta do. I stepped forward to meet them halfway, clenching and unclenching my hands, getting blood to my fingers, I needed to be quick on the draw. Pedro stopped and sniffed the air, rolling a stick of straw from one side of his mouth to the other. He was ready. So was I. He moved, I was quicker. He spun round and hit the dirt. I had two handsful of struggling Ryeland and I wasn't going anywhere. Physics won the day, my bulk against his speed and rather unceremoniously he was carried across the yard and placed in the jail house with the others. Rock HQ aint big enough for the both of us, so hes going to the little house on the prairie that we have just rented. He will thank me one day, especially as he will have a harem of some 10 lovely Ryeland ewes to keep him company.

Struck down

2011-10-24T21:13:00.001+01:00

I thought I felt odd yesterday, putting the aching back and legs to the trial by concrete. Late last night I realised why I felt so peculiar, ManFlu has struck me down. I informed a colleague of this who cheerfully replied that he was hardly surprised given he was so ill when we spent the day together Thursday last. So thanks to his generosity my beautiful and oh so patient wife has bore the brunt of all tasks at Rock HQ whilst helping me keep body and soul in one piece.

Light relief

2011-10-23T21:53:00.000+01:00

After yesterdays major groundworks today was a lot easier with more bodging on the fences, somehow one mangalitza can still get out from the pig pen, she cannot get back in so its likely she is the worse kind of livestock, a jumper.

In fixing the fence along Oak Bank, a proper bodge job involving 12 foot planks to fill a 13 foot gap a reminder that the wood piled along the fence line had been there three years and really should be sawn up for winter, thats this winter not next, or even further along. So by way of taking it easy several hours of the day was spent happily reducing big wood to fire wood. Dogs were walked, Rugy World Cup Final was watched and all was well at Rock HQ. Even the sun shone.

So we had plenty of time just to mess around with the water.

Chicken take away

2011-10-22T22:24:00.000+01:00

The day started down in the pig pen, the cute little mangalitza piglets have given up grazing and have started ploughing the resulting massive holes dug with their cute little noses are on the one hand unsightly, on the other dangerous and even worse mean that the rarest of commodities here at Rock HQ, grass, is even rarer. So time was spent filling in the tunnels they had dug under the wire, this proved very successful and kept them quarantined until around lunchtime when an undiscovered tunnel was commissioned and they were up their dirty work again.

I on the other hand was now otherwise engaged with Operation Greystuff and was in the process of turning mud into concrete. The apprentice smallholder took his supervision role seriously but soon fell asleep.

Slowly slowly the pace, but the jobs a good one and going to plan. The second goat house now has concrete floor and the path from the kennel/cowshed/pig med bay was laid, well partly. It was at around this point above when my beautiful and oh so patient wife declared that she had just seen Cosmo, one of our cats, running across the lane with something grey in his mouth. As I uttered the syllables its probably a squirrel we both remembered our friends the microholders who had called earlier for a cuppa but ostensibly to drop off two Lavender Pekin Bantams that they flogged me in an unguarded moment. These very pretty little birds, about the size of a blackbird and costing ounce for ounce the same as gold were bought as a gift for the love of my life who was now, like me, trying to cover the 50 metres between us and murderous cat as fast as physics and biology would allow in the vain hope that Cosmo had not killed his take away.

Unbelievably Cosmo dropped his lunch, presumably seeing yours truly lumbering towards him wielding a shovel and shouting "Geroffoutofityoubloodycat!" caused a momentary loss of appetite. The poor little hen, equally shaken by shovel wielding vision, managed to keep body and soul together, sensed rescue and allowed itself to be dragged through the hedge backwards and placed in the safe embrace of a very upset wife. Thankfully tiny bird has huge constitutional reserves and within half an hour was eating and wondering what the fuss was all about.

The concreting went well, despite interruptions as above, three little pigs deciding to investigate, Montana walking its length and Rocky choosing it as the best place to have a kip. So far in two afternoons an area of sixteen feet by fourteen feet has been covered. Only another two miles or so to go. All be over by Christmas!

Kamikaze Sparrows

2011-10-21T21:40:00.004+01:00

Theres been a bit of a saga here at Rock HQ the last 10 days.Vic the Volvo began to display some disturbing symptoms which made him interesting to drive to say the least, especially on a downhill right turn when he, to all intents and purposes, died. The sudden loss of engine meant the power steering failed, interesting bordering on exciting, while the lack of brakes due to no servo assistance added to the ambiance and created a certain amount of hysteria amongst my passengers and the elderly couple who's Yorkshire Terrier was in the kill zone as we headed straight for the patch of pavement the tiny pooch occupied. Thankfully collision with all soft squishy and hard objects was avoided by yours truly having the presence of mind to turn Vic off and on again, the engine roared, passengers screamed, power restored, steering functional we swerved past frozen to spot dog and continued on our way. But the hint had been taken, Vic needed medical help.

So we took him to the Docs where he was plugged into a life support system. Apparently Vic had one of thirteen faults, fourteen if you included the bonnet opening cable breaking when that function was requested. Several spanners and swearwords later the greasy medic got his grubby mitts on Vic internals and began an operation to restore him to full health. I waited anxiously as they did what they needed to do. A reassuring cuppa was offered, don't worry I was told, hes in safe hands now. Hours later the grease covered medic came to break the news. Vic needed intensive care, mere first aid was not going to resurrect Vic, the question every car owner doesn't want to hear was asked, is he worth saving?

Vic worth saving,?

Vic who's stout constitution has saved me from a rear end crash, Vic who's sure footedness saved mine and a ponies life on a dark wet mountain road (he still bears the scars from that encounter the drivers door mirror is still on the to do list, the replacement in safely on top of the fridge) (the pony probably bears the scars too but a smacked bottom is better than the inside of a dog food can) of course Vic is worth saving!

I tried not to feint when told how much I would not be saving by saving Vic and left them too it. Days passed.

Several days past the we will rebuild him we have the technology day. I phoned the hospital, the chief surgeon wanted a word, this was serious.

Vic was not responding to treatment, several remedies had been tried and as a last resort they put him up on the ramp and found something very interesting. Somehow, and still no one knows how, a bird of some description, they know it was a bird as within the mushy mess there were brownish feathers,somehow this ex bird had flown through the front of the car and hit the god box.

The god box is the armour plated computergizmoid that governs all the cars motions and sensors, approximately 13 of them. The last thing to pass through the mind of this hapless bird was not, I guarantee, the realisation tht it was severing the data from the god box which meant that Vic had no idea which way up was, yet alone what fuel it should use, how to apply brakes and so on.

The god box arrived at the hospital yesterday and Vic was discharged this morning (costing three times the estimated repair bill, thanks birdy)

Man and machine reunited set out to right wrongs several counties away.

Vic was back.

All is well.

For now.

Until the next Kamikaze Sparrow decides to have a go.

Just chatting

2011-10-20T22:00:00.000+01:00

Pointless conversation of the day, having filled Hazel with LPG gas I go to the cash desk.
Me. Morning, £19.85p (handing over a £20 note)
Him. Did you get how many litres?
Me. (still holding note) No
Him. Sorry, cant do anything without the litres.
Me. Ok. (leave counter and check pump)
Me. 27.85 (teeth slightly clenched)
Him. (tapping computer keyboard) Thats £19.85p

Mad World

2011-10-19T22:41:00.000+01:00

You do see it all here, so I hardly batted an eyelid when I spotted this chap in the centre of the picture (look closely) at five ways crossing(so called as there are seven tracks to choose from) playing golf. He had descended from the top right track behind the trees and set off towards the bottom right, hitting the ball and then hurrying after it. Now across the valley is England's highest golf course but this chap was miles out. I have heard that you have to play where it lands but this was a bit extreme. Proof if any were needed that a) its a mad world and b) golf spoils a good walk.