Let there be light!

Another good day at Rock HQ, lots of jobs done and a couple of mysteries solved.

The weather has behaved and allowed us to venture outside dressed in clothing other than not quite waterproofs so we have pottered around catching up on little jobs. Currently I am in the doghouse for leaving an axe hanging on the workshop door which fell off and nearly amputated Tracey's arm, but apart from that the day has passed without mishap.

William is fit, well and deposited vast quantities of pooh on the stable floor in an effort to demonstrate he wasn't bunged up after last nights colic attack so was allowed out to graze in the sunshine.

One mystery we solved was the strange case of the disappearing smoked salmon. We went to bed and in the fridge was the remains of our dinner, a slice of smoked salmon saved for some scrambled egg for breakfast. Tracey got up early and went to collect our latest purchase of animal feed, I found the salmon gone thinking she had had it. She returned later and decided on a sandwich for lunch, found the fish gone assumed I had it. What actually happened was Ben our son returned home at 1 am, dropped off a ton of his army gear, couldn't resist looking in the fridge, after all the food in there isn't actually owned or wanted by anyone in the house and it was he who ate the salmon. And Cheese. Oh and some cold sausages, milk, bread and anything else that wasn't nailed to the shelf.

The second mystery was solved by the electrician Steve. He still claims his name is Paul, but as all professionals and tradespeople in the valley are called Steve he is only trying to buck the trend. So Steve tipped up in his van which is a special edition white van with chest of drawers and portable chemical toilet, both securely fitted in the back by the ubiquitous bungee strap. Steve's task, apart from sorting out quite how we get electric into the stables and fit it out with lights and switches, was to find out why the lights in the dining room, downstairs wetroom, utility room, workshop and pantry either fail to come on when asked or go out after a few minutes.

This is an old house, and it has had things done to it many times, the electrical system has been designed so that you are never more than an arms length from a light switch. In fact some lights have three switches, allowing a wonderful combination of on off pleasure and for the real thrill seekers there are spare switches on some walls fitted for no other purpose than to provide the home owner with the joy of switching. If there was on Olympic event for light switching this house would be the training area.

The lights in the shower went out about a year ago, we tried to shower by candle light but this was far from successful. Dinners have for while been candlelit affairs as the ceiling lights went out and refused, despite all efforts to illuminate. The pantry lights would stay on just long enough for you locate what you were looking for before plunging you into an abyss of darkness as you clutched your can of baked beans whilst praying that you found the exit before the pantry monster grabbed you.

We needed expert help.

We needed Steve, even if he was called Paul.

I watched with interest as he dismantled vital sections of the house, transformers and wires were laid bare as I fought off electricians tourettes syndrome. This is the overwhelming desire to shout bang everytime I saw him touch a wire. Seeing I was struggling with this Steve told me that shouting bang wasn't as scary as builders and their nail guns who have the habit of firing them everytime he tests a circuit in a new build house. That was scary enough to cause accidents. That explained the toilet in the back of the van.

By mid morning we had two bedrooms dismantled and most of the lights working except for the shower room and the dining room. We even phoned the nice man who sold us this wonderful house to see if he could shed any light on why we were suffering eternal darkness. Steve was shocked by some of the wiring, literally, only for the third time in his life as an electrician he got a jolt from the mains after turning off a circuit. What he didn't know is our house is so good some switches are wired into two circuits. He swore to be more careful, I swore not to stand to close to him in case he exploded.

Finally after much head scratching, endless trips up and down stairs the circuit into the shower room still refused to work. Steve had tested it, it was live, it all should work, the bulbs were good, it made no sense.

Pondering what to do we were stood in Beth's room, our faces glum, he about to admit defeat, me contemplating another year of dark showers and wondering if there was any money to be made from a patent for an umbrella for candles when he said "Whats this switch do?"

Low on the wall below Beths bedroom window was a switch.

He turned it on.

We have lights.

Katy and Daffodil play fighting

Katy and Daffodil checking the facilities of the new stable.

Home is where the Heart is.

One of the immediate things that attracted us to Rock HQ was the fact that the kitchen has a Rayburn. As we drove away after our first viewing we imagined pot roasts slowly cooking while we worked in the garden, sickly lambs in boxes recovering in the warmth radiated from the cooker or leaning on the rail drinking coffee warming ourselves after being out in the winter cold feeding the animals. Since we moved in all these have happened, and much more, the Rayburn is without doubt the heart of Rock HQ.

It’s a very warm heart; we haven’t had to have the central heating on as the heat it generates is enough for the whole house. On the coldest winter days we have a wood burning stove to assist, in fact the only times we have had the central heating on is when the orphan lambs moved in.
It’s central to the work at Rock HQ, it’s our only cooker, it dries our clothes, heats our water and keeps the cats happy. So you can imagine the problems caused if it doesn’t work. Fortunately it’s very reliable and the only time it has ever let us down is when it ran out of heating oil. First indication that this was happening was that dinner took an extraordinary long time to cook. The following morning I opened our bedroom door and didn’t receive the customary gust of hot air from the top of the stairs. Final clue was no hot water. This problem was easily resolved by pleading with the fuel oil company to make an emergency delivery.

Since then we have kept a close eye on the level in the tank. So it was a bit of a surprise the other day when it took over an hour to get a pan of water warm enough to boil an egg. We are used to the foibles of the Rayburn, like having to talk to it nicely, turning it on about twenty minutes before you need it, keeping the pan in the centre on the left where its hottest and so on, but this was not right. Tracey was convinced she could smell oil so we shut it down. In today’s PC climate it was crystal clear what we needed, we needed a repair person, fast!

The valley we live in is a very old valley, there have been settlements here for centuries where folk have lived, farmed and died. For generations farms have been owned and passed on to family members. This changed slightly in the early 1900’s when the railway brought a much needed communication link with the outside world. People left, people came, the roads were improved, the railway was dismantled and the valley life continued pretty much unchanged. As consequence of this stability a lot of the families local to us have the same name. In fact it’s not uncommon for the men of the household to have the same first and second name, which is the same as those on the next farm. This can lead to some confusion, especially if you are new like us. To get round this they refer to each other by their surname followed by the farm or the occupation. Without actually naming people perhaps an example is needed.

Let’s take a fictional John Smith, he might have a son called John Smith, Smith might be the name of the neighbour who may also be a Jim with a son called Jim, so when they are spoken of they are Smith of Sunnyside or Smith of Brookside. Smith might not be a farmer so may have an occupation making him Smith the Butcher or Smith the Bus and so on.

With increased mechanization and diversification most farms have developed from small operations that provided for families immediately connected with the farm and selling the surplus at local markets to large farms that just about scratch a living on the hillsides. It’s not unusual now for farms to be over 300 acres and only farmed by a father and son. This has meant a lot of houses have been sold to new people in the valley like us. Quite a few are smallholders who work full time and farm part time in an effort to be a bit more in touch with what eventually arrives on our dinner plates. This has meant that quite a few new trades have arrived in the valley, plumbers, carpenters, mechanics, or professionals such as doctors, pilots and social workers.

What’s particularly interesting about this valley is that the old school farmers seem to have welcomed us amateurs in and that most of the new inhabitants with the exception of ourselves are called Steve.

Without our Rayburn we were in a fix so had to get professional help. This was immediately apparent when I shut it down; I decided to take a quick look at the fire box on the front carefully opening the door. The nine foot flame that shot upwards left and interesting mark on the kitchen ceiling next to the one caused by an exploding bottle of Elderflower Champagne. This is a fantastic drink and simple to make but I advise body armour if you are next to the bottles for any length of time as the contents are highly volatile and explode with exciting regularity.
Never having needed a Rayburn repair person we had no idea who to call. A quick scan through the Parish Magazine and we were none the wiser, no one listed. I spoke to the Oracle, our neighbour, no he didn’t know anyone, but I might try Steve, Steve the Plumber.

I phoned Steve, he didn’t fix Rayburns, but he knew someone who did, phone this number and ask for Steve, if you’re lucky he can help. I phoned and spoke to Steve, Steve the Answerphone, and left a rambling message and waited developments.

That evening Steve the Rayburn made contact, how desperate were we, desperate enough to eat takeaway food, that bad eh, right I will be around tomorrow afternoon. Fantastic. No more sandwiches and cup a soups, no more huddling around a candle for warmth, ok so I exaggerate but you get the picture. The following day Steve the Rayburn arrived in his gleaming white van which he parked in front of the Stable Sprites chariot. It turned out that Steve the Rayburn knew the Stable Sprite, who is also, unsurprisingly, called Steve.

Steve the Rayburn prepared himself. I briefed him on what to expect, one casualty in the kitchen, not sure what type, never been serviced since we moved in. This news was greeted with incredulity by Steve the Rayburn, apparently Rayburns have to be serviced regularly and we should phone a Rayburn engineer every time we want to fry an egg. As we spoke Steve the Rayburn equipped himself with the tools necessary for the mission ahead, snapping on a utility belt that would have made Batman envious. By the time he had finished stuffing his pockets and pouches and checking his huge black torch he looked like a member of the SAS about to end a siege. We watched as this brave man knelt and whispered a brief prayer before entering the kitchen to tackle the wounded Rayburn single handed. We gathered nervously around the kitchen doorway and waited unable to look each other in the eye, the friendly banter now gone. If Steve the Rayburn remembered his training he would survive, if not we might have to call Steve the Paramedic.

After what seemed like an eternity Steve the Rayburn emerged blinking into the daylight, it was obvious by the lines on his face that it had been a tough mission but a successful one. The Rayburn had filled with soot blocking the heat to the hotplate; this had then fallen into the firebox making matters worse. He had also fitted a new control panel as the one we inherited when we moved into Rock HQ had never worked. Steve our Savior packed his kit and left us to play with the refurbished Rayburn promising to return one day and service it for us.

Steve the Stable Sprite finished his creation yesterday and bid us farewell. Left to our own devices we decided that last night was the night for our first bar b que of the year. Sat in the sunshine we waited for our home produced meat to finish sizzling. A white van drove slowly up the lane and a man got out. He waved and opened the back door fetching out a large white sack. Apparently Steve the Post had dropped our seed order off at a house across the valley along with his, the driver of the vans rabbit hutch. Steve the Post doesn’t feel the need to deliver to the actual address on the item, he just aims to get it in the vicinity, and you get used to it.

Thanking the driver profusely I asked what he did, I’m an electrician, of course we had met Steve the Electrician, he looked at me over the top of his glasses, no Paul, my names Paul. I shook my head, sorry mate that’s going to get confusing if you’re not Steve.

I showed him around the Stable Sprites creation, he would put the necessary electrics in but we would have to wait a while, no problem Steve, Paul, that’s right Steve thanks. He went to his van and got me a business card and promising to return in July left us to our bar b que.

I showed Tracey the card, she is the organized one of the two of us. She put Paul’s card safe in the Rock HQ phone book so we would know where it was later in the year.

It’s filed under Steve the Electrician so we don’t get confused.

Changing Rooms!

I often wish our animals could talk, none more so today as the Stable Sprite has completed his magic and the new stable block is fully functional.

William and Trevor were walked past it this morning as we turned them out and in a few minutes they will be walked back down the lane expecting to go to their waterlogged, muddy, dark temporary stable. Instead they will each have a luxury 12 by 12 stable, hay rack, self filling water bowls, concrete floor, deep dry bedding, windows, doors and toys. It will be a complete contrast to what they are used to.

The last few months have been a huge build project here at Rock HQ, it seems such a long time ago when I accidentally got back in touch with Karl and found he was trying to raise money to go to Thailand to meet a lady boy he had met on the Internet. With the offer of some money and food he was on the next plane from bonnie Scotland and living with us clearing the site for the stables and the kennels. In an unusual flash of inspiration I remembered the talented Stable Sprite who lived in the valley. Thank God I asked him to do this part of the build. He has worked wonders making an excellent and beautiful looking building for us. It was quite exciting returning home wondering what he had been up to while we were at work. I will put all the pictures in order later in the week and you will have the entire sequence to oggle over. Meanwhile you can all look at the finished product.

Like I said it was a good job he did it for us because as talented and enthusiastic as Karl and I are we would never have done anything near such a good job. Whats more likely to have happened is that one of us would have ended up murdering the other and that would have upset Miss Thailand.

Thanks Stable Sprite, you worked wonders and saved a diplomatic incident.

We make Stable progress

Here are some pictures of the magic weaved by the stable sprite while we are at work, each picture shows a days magic. We have only seen the stable sprite twice since we started the project, once in his big white chariot and once while he was actually casting spells and moving wood magically transforming them from planks to building before our very eyes. We hope the magic stable sprite finishes by the weekend as the poor horses will have to learn to swim if any more water falls from the sky.

Poor horses.

Hopefully these pictures will appear in order, if not the one that looks least like a stable is the first one, the one that looks most like a stable is the last one.

On a different note, there seems to be quite a number of you now that follow the Tales from the Rock, people are logging on in Mexico, Japan, Greece, India, Australia as well as many other Countries. Amazing. If you are our reader Latvia send us an e mail, the address is at the top. We are getting quite a few e mails now, seems like Trevor should have his own fan club!

The Team Works

There are times when you feel like your not making any progress as far as smallholding is concerned. There are other times like in the last few days when you feel that finally the plans are coming together. Here for example is a picture of the work in progress on the stable block where we have taken a slight liberty and built it slightly bigger than originally planned for. Careful observers might see the tack room and goat dairy on the back. Well it was going to be 32 foot long and now its only 24 so it seems only fair we stick the missing bit on the back. No will ever know, no one ever bothers to venture up our lane.

So we got cheap concrete from our neighbours, Karl and the others put the base down and the stable sprites have been erecting the building while we are out at work. Never having seen the magical pixies that are busily constructing the wooden wonder we always got excited at home time wondering what they had been up to while we were away. Sometimes it looked like not much had been going on and we were disappointed, perhaps they had just dropped new piles of wood in the lane, and other times we were delighted to find they had been very busy little sprites and walls were up or roof joists were assembled and fitted. They are a month behind schedule though but you cant tell them off lest they disappear for good!

Now as I had been project managing the kennels, goat houses and retaining wall these busy sprites had been working around the over order of timber, bags of sand and 160 extra concrete blocks. I knew they would have to be moved, mainly because if we wanted to use the stables the blocks blocked one of the door ways. Now William is an agile beast but even he has his limitations. So the extra building materials must be moved, but I kept putting it off. It was going to be a hard job!

We accidentally met the chief sprite in the lane after a busy days toil, bad news he said, as he leaned out of his big white chariot, what I cried, thinking oh no has the bank returned the cheque, have the planning people been around.

No worse than that, it was the day, the day that the sprite decided the blocks must be moved.

By us, not by magic.

Damn!

I only have one functioning arm so using a wheelbarrow is a hell of a challenge but I gave it a go for amusements sake if nothing else, carefully placing four of the concrete blocks in the barrow I attempted to lift it. Not a good idea as I felt the metal work in my left arm twang. So I took two out and cautiously tried again, success and soon the two blocks were transported across the yard and lined up along the fence. Tracey came to help after cleaning out the kennel block and after an hour and a half of toil we had moved forty blocks. I could not remember why I had ordered so many of the biggest, heaviest concrete blocks on the market. Our backs were breaking and we needed help.

I gave the secret call.

The team assembled, Ben (our son) Tom (Beth's boyfriend) Tracey provided the muscle and Beth provided the coffee while I provided much needed moral support as they set about the task. Within an hour they had moved the 120 blocks and stacked them so they looked like a concrete homage to the Terra Cotta warriors, twenty concrete statues now guard the lane and entrance to the Kennels.

Thank you team.

And as for no one ever coming up our lane, well a large green four by four nudged its way through the throng of dogs and poultry that gathered round to welcome it. I eyed it with suspicion.

Strangers!!

A man got out and looked at the building site and then me. I looked at the blocks, the wood, the concrete and the extra bit and then at him. He introduced himself, our local councillor.

Panic.

Will we vote for him in the local elections.

Relief.