Making friends

Despite feeling like death on two legs I manned up and set about tasks in hand on the smallholding today. The critters were not concerned that I had a severe case of man flu, and as Tracey was now suffering what is known as a slight head cold, it soon became clear that my access to unlimited tea, biscuits and sympathy had come to a premature end. As the majority of jobs that were essential involved freezing cold water, even colder mud and power tools it should come as no surprise that after several hours working in seasonal showers my man flu has developed into double pneumonia and several self inflicted wounds and it is only thanks to the invigorating effects of single malt whiskey that I am still able to function at any reasonable level.
An interesting few minutes were passed chatting to a member of the militia on his quad bike, the whys and wherefores of scrub land burning were discussed. Pros and cons were evaluated and it seems that the best way of clearing the stifling gorse bushes from the hill is several gallons of diesel and a lot of hope. Considering that the effects of the last big conflagration some four years ago are still visible on the hill I think perhaps caution is the best option and some gentle pruning is called for rather than resorting to flamethrowers. The Militia man was searching for his sheep. The handsome chap above has some idea of where some of them are the wild parties they have been having.
When I delivered Mad Keith's dinner he was keen to tell me that Crispen, above, had been rounding up ladies, and graphically painted a picture of how our short legged ram, faced (if that's possible) with the rear of a taller lady sheep, positioned himself on the uphill side to gain access, and in the words of the hermit, "He might have trouble reaching but he keeps the pace well". I left him chuckling to himself and pondering the look on the militia face when little Crispens pop out all over the hill in the spring.