Wait here!

 Right Ted, the situations this, Dads not allowed to go shopping with Mum and Grandma as he only goes to one shop and buys the same coloured shirt as he is already wearing and then moans as they go into every other shop before returning to the first and buying the first thing they saw. So we are visiting his parents, sister and brother in law. They look busy, sit here, I can see just what we need.

 They wont miss a few banana flavoured rusks, too busy chatting.

 Ooops spotted, act natural.

Quick eat as much as you can!

No TV!

Its a great place to live here at Rock HQ, the minor irritation that we are in an area that cannot get TV signals doesn't usually bother us. We do get pictures on the box of sorts, but on a windy day, or a rainy one (and we get a few!) the reception varies from poor to unwatchable. But we get by. However the three weeks we really want a TV, the Olympic coverage, the signal has disappeared completely. Even a TV engineer with all sorts of gizmatronics couldn't get a picture today. He got a signal, eventually, but somewhere between the aeriel and box it evaporated. He promised to come back Saturday and have another go. We might get to see some track and field events. Meantime we are watching a small horse. Its not as exciting.

Preparation and planning

 The fact that there were 16 severe weather warnings in place for the UK did not deter us from the plan to spend part of my beautiful and oh so patient wife's 40th at the seaside. Neither did the horizontal rain put us off as we headed to the coast, the forecast said that between 15.10 and 16.25 there was a 83% chance of a ray of sunshine. Admittedly this was for a different beach to the one we were actually heading towards, I got it mixed up in my mixed up head (I was tired, up til 2am wrapping) but the odds were that at some point in the afternoon the rain would stop and the sun shine, summer at last.
So with several other bedraggled and wet families we took shelter in a dodgy greasy spoon and drank luke warm tea or coca cola and watched the sky. Sure enough at 15.00 a crack in the grey sky appeared and revealed an azure blue heaven. The mass exodus from the chippie was a sight to behold, only topped by watching fat dads (not me) running towards the briny discarding clothing en route to their compulsory dip in the ice cold and very choppy ocean. Luckily paramedics were on standby to assist those having coronaries or hypothermia while the RNLI picked up those that drifted out of their depth and protecting the largest from the Japanese Whaler anchored offshore. Pretty soon we had the beach to ourselves, save for the odd lost mongrel dog and what looked like part of a set from a Spielberg film.

 Turns out that this is what you can get up in your spare time given enough drift wood and lottery funding, but is was an interesting feature in an otherwise unspoilt nature reserve.

And as part of Tracey's birthday present was memories, watching yours truly coax little t over the strange construction added a certain something to the day, as did his eating sand, running off to catch mongrel dog, crying at being stopped from keeping mongrel dog, changing my mobile phone to Russian and point blank refusing to restore it to its original settings, me losing my glasses and the look on my face when served the worst fish and chips ever. In all the 45 minutes of sunshine made the day even more special, but had it poured with rain we would still have had a fun day, and now we know the beach is only just over an hour from HQ we plan to make a return visit. With a few dogs.

I'm OK......Honest

 No really, this is the most comfortable way to sleep ever!

All wrapped up..

 There was a time when I used to worry about days like today, the big S for two of our pigs, a trip in the trailer to their final destination, the celestial sty. Gone are the days where I used to train the pigs to do back flips into the waiting trailer, the whole smallholding to abattoir transfer done in a military style exercise, timed to perfection, going like clockwork, never any dramas. (Yeah right!) No, now I favour the point at trailer and let pig out method hoping that they find the allure of the blue feed bucket more appealing than 500 hectares of common land. Which was why the first two hours before my well earned bacon sarnie was spent chasing pigs across common land shaking a bucket at their disappearing backsides and wishing that I had kept hamsters instead of pigs.
All was going so well, despite the attentions of the Berners and rampaging Ryleands who all of a sudden couldn't wait to cram into the open trailer to steal the apple slices placed strategically to tempt the soon to be sausage to their fate. Fifteen minutes into the operation with two pigs almost fully in the trailer a third, who we also wanted to be bacon, marched up the ramp and decided that this was the exact moment to settle old scores and a full on fight for the cox's pippins ensued which scattered the dogs, sheep and bipeds until it all calmed down. By which time pigs had it away on their trotters and so the great round up began.
No, what I was really worried about today was the prospect of the trailer obstacle course the abattoir end of the journey. The journey there was uneventful apart from an ambulance wanting the same piece of road I was on and so began the first of many reversing tests which I happy to say I passed with flying colours and aside from hitting a wheelie bin full of rotting entrails, no penalty points.
As usual the mayhem of the small slaughterhouse entrance attracted a ring of spectators, all waiting for the inevitable jack knifed vehicle/trailer combos as the helpless and hapless reverse from the busy main road through the narrow gate, negotiating the crowd, the other 4x4's with empty trailers, escaping animals, cross vets, happy slaughter men and a butcher who is as cheerful as a hung over Phil Mitchell.
Today I watched as grown man broke down in tears mid way through the gate, he was helped from his Land Rover while a volunteer driver sorted out the mess. My turn came and much to every ones surprise (and disappointment) I got through the gate, reversed along a queue of vehicles waiting to exit, waved at Phil Mitchell who was pointing and saying something like "I remember you from last time!" (rude!) parallel parked, then continued back through a gap left by a transit van and sobbing farmer up to the unloading point. Here the slight impact with the wheelie bin could have spoiled a winning streak but as no one saw it didn't count. Pigs out. Away in time to get to work. I collect my medal and sausages Thursday.

Tomorrow is the big day and again, for once I am prepared, well almost. As Tracey my beautiful and oh so patient wife climbed the wooden hill she stopped and handed me something. A roll of sellotape. She knows me so well!

Introducing.....

 Its that time of year that every married man dreads, the time of year when hapless male searches memory bank for the subtle clues dropped by beautiful and oh so patient wife as to the type of birthday present that will make her truly happy. Unfortunately the idiot she married is unable to recognise subtle hints unless tied to a house brick and thrown at him. Worse still its a special birthday year, one that deserves recognition, so I decided to recognise it by having a birthday week rather than a birthday and it kicked off today with a special delivery, gift wrapped, of this polar bear lookalike.

 By the look on beautiful and oh so patient wife's face I actually got it right, it was what she wanted.

 And along with puppy (Yet to be officially named, ideas on a post card please) came a certain number of accessories which made both of them happy.

Needless to say puppy immediately set her stall by inspecting all new toys, bed and bowl before opting for a snooze on the sofa. Start as you mean to go on then!

Cheap shot!

 It cannot have gone unnoticed that the UK is hosting the 2012 Olympics, and that there was an opening ceremony and show, the brainchild of a certain Danny Boyle, who depicted the inhabitants of this sceptered isle as having descended from a bunch of yokels who milled around doing rural things until the industrial revolution saved them. Quite where he got the notion that we as a nation live in white faced cottages with well tended gardens and roses growing around the door is beyond me.

 The very idea that we have nothing better to do than attend local fetes, raising money for good causes or organisations such as the Women's Institute would have been funny if Mr Boyle had not given the billions of the worlds population watching the TV spectacular the image of British citizens as having nothing better to do with their time

 than to eat cream teas while

 listening to folk music and

 taking part in such quaint customs as throwing horse shoes, smacking the rat, welly wanging and bowls.

Actually there is a lot more to this royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,this earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,this other Eden, demi-paradise,this fortress built by Nature for herself against infection and the hand of war. This happy breed of men, this little world, this precious stone set in the silver sea, which serves it in the office of a wall,or as a moat defensive to a house,against the envy of less happier lands.
No, theres a lot more to this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England/Wales/Scotland/Northern Ireland.
And anyone who say different is just guilty of cheap stereotyping.

A cunning plan

 As usual when in a hurry and you need to make progress the critters have other ideas and yesterday morning the pigs in the big pen had chewed the tap off the blue plastic pipe. This was probably because the water tank they drink out of was empty thanks to Rosie using it as a private tub and tipping it over. Again. Tap removed 1000 gallons of stored water filled the lower parts of the pen giving everyone a fantastic wallow. As the pipe was chewed it wasn't a quick fix so in my SOHF I carried plastic tap (above) back to the cottage to show my beautiful and oh so patient wife what naughty piggies we have.

However the now mobile plastic tap reminded me of a cunning plan I had to insert two more taps along the 100 metre or so of blue pipe that takes water from the stream to various points on the smallholding. Again its sods law that the locations of the taps are nowhere near where you actually need them, for example the one at the bottom of Oak Bank is equidistant from the small pig pen and the goats, but to get to it you wade through mud and climb a fence. Not easy carrying full buckets of water and as Pam the Mangalitza is drinking about 20 gallons (well she uses 20 gallons, most of it she sloshes around) it would be more use to have a tap by her, and one by the small pig pen. Off to farm supermarket to buy two new plastic taps. Which is what I would have done except for one small bother encountered at the checkout. Plastic tap costs £24.99. Plus VAT. 
I did manage not to feint when nice man trying to flog insanely priced article told me of the price, which was just the start, the t junction and coupling added another £10.80 plus VAT. Eventually the cheapest option was seized upon, a full metal tap for £4.99 and a plastic coupling (without screw fix attachment to fix to post/wall as that was an extra ten quid, I used baler twine instead) total cost £10.49 plus VAT. I decided on just the one extra tap. I told the nice man I had 7 of these taps, which turn out not to be taps but shut off valves, to which he replied that that seemed a bit luxurious. I now have half a plan to replace all plastic taps/shut off valves with full metal ones and flogging the plastics on ebay. I could make a few quid I reckon!