Another round up

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.

Mission accomplished

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......

Modern Technology

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................

Nine and a half hours

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.

Take me to the river

We had an email from friends down under who run a parallel universe on an Australian smallholding, commenting on our dry spell. They have proper water shortages there, and green is an unusual summer colour for them in the land down under, its pretty and green here, we are falling into autumn but theres a lot of verdant hue around. So after grovelling to the Technohermit for forgeting his dinner yesterday I took Rocky and Spotty the wrong way round Worzel Wood. To get there we had to cross a swamp, that wasn't there, and clear several styles without any on my part and a lot of noise and theatricals from Rocky. The picture above might look like Spotty running hell for leather down a country trail.....

....it is in fact the bed of the local river, which at this point above is usually three foot or so deep, a concrete ford allows forestry vehicles access to the woods while the wooden effort allows the three billy goats gruff safe passage from bothersome trolls.

Its so dry that theres no mud, plants have even started to grow where fishes should be at school. Bear in mind we had torrential rain for several hours this morning, our trusty high tech rain gauge (a coffee cup on the wall) showed over an inch of the wet stuff had fallen, so heavy in fact that I took Vic to work (I'm no fair weather walker!) so my paperwork didnt get soggy. Its raining just as hard now, but a fair bit more will have to fall to get the river flowing again. The Oracle who has lived here almost a lifetime can only remember two occasions the rivers been dry, 1976 was the last, the famous drought year.

No sign of the Trolls though, perhaps they've moved to the Stanner Rocks, that looks like good troll country.

Down to earth

Vic decided to play up big time this morning. He refused to start. This was actually not his fault, he being bi-fuel needs petrol to start and then switches to LPG. I had run him down to the fumes in the pipes, and parked facing uphill the final swill of petrol could not defy gravity and reach the fuel pump pipe the far end of the tank. So Hazel was press ganged into the journey over the mountains and Vic had a lazy day in the sun on the yard. The plus side to all this is that I had forgotten to tax Vic on the weekend so his shenanigans might have saved me a ticket from PC Keen.

As it was such a lovely evening I decided that a quick jog around Bonsai Mountain was in order despite the cuts and bruises from yesterdays prat fall. Half way round I felt good, in fact really good, I was two minutes up on my best time, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, the birds were singing in the trees and with three very happy Bernese Mountain Dogs taking it in turns to trip me up all was well in my world. Until I happened upon the Technohermit, the Bonsai Mountain's human equivalent to fox pooh, hes everywhere. I slowed from a jog to a fat man shuffle, we were going to speak, I could tell.

"Alright?"

"Yes mate" (panting)

"Running are you?"

"Not now" (humour wasted)

"Fall over did yer?"

"Yes"(pointing to knees and bionic arm, cuts evidence of gravitational mishap)

"Looks sore"

"Yes"(nodding profusely and trying to move on)

"Well, you're a bit on the heavy side for that aintcha"(he moved on, my audience over)

Ego thoroughly deflated I trudged on. Cheers mate.

Trouble at Rock HQ

I should know better by now, I should have a tattoo on my forehead to remind me every time I look in the mirror. It would say "Always listen to Tracey" backwards of course but in red block capitols.
Today as I prepared to leave Rock HQ to test how my training regime was working in the real world of the Black Mountains, ready for the Big Black Mountain Challenge in six or so weeks she asked me which car I intended to take. Rene of course, on account its a mans car and will be fairly full of wet muddy Berner and walkers. Rene already looking like a mobile compost heap would not mind us wallowing in mud and snow and then transferring considerable amounts of the mountain back into his interior. But, she reasoned, what if I have to go around the Bonsai Mountain to the Technohermit for an unexpected birth of a lamb that he will phone me about when you are out. I pondered the scenario for a nanosecond and dismissed it with an as if and if in the unlikely event that happens take Fifi.

So Richard, Rocky and I set off and explored the Black Mountains. It was an excellent walk, we escaped the ice swamp (below) almost intact. I managed to fall through the thin crust of ice and was plunged up to my testicles in a gigantic slush puppy (subsequent immersions were not quite so severe as A. The slush puppy was not so deep and B. My family jewels had by now sought refuge next to my tonsils)

By the time we had lunch at almost sea level it had brightened up a bit so we took a slight detour to do the tourist bit and walk along to the reservoir. The inhabitants in the cottage at the dams base place an awful lot of faith in God's and Victorian stone masons ability to hold back the water.
After six and a half hours walking and 24k we got back to Rene and headed back to Rock HQ, tired and feeling very pleased with ourselves. As we drove through the gate at the end of drive ominous signs that all was not well were just ahead. The Oracles 4x4 was backed up the steep side of Bonsai Mountain and behind a car that looked suspiciously like Fifi stranded in a gully.
As we got nearer a perplexed driver bearing an uncanny resemblance to Tracey was comforting a sheep much like Springtime, one of our Ryelands, sat on the back seat with what looked like a new born lamb next to her.
Tracey didn't have to say I told you so, I already knew she had. The Technohermit had indeed called to tell her that one of our sheep had abandoned a lamb on the hill. Tracey as instructed took FiFi and did a brilliant job of a 21st century Little Bo Peep and had driven up the side of Bonsai Mountain where cars fear to tread. Unfortunately Murph was on the hill and the lane was blocked by the product of his labour, felled branches barred the way which meant Tracey had to reverse back down the hill. Gravity took over and she was deposited almost at the bottom in a deep gully.
The Oracle was trying to tow her out but lack of a fixing point hampered his efforts. Tracey was now faced by three men, Richard, The Oracle and yours truly who were all experts at vehicle from deep gully extraction and as we debated the best strategy that didn't involve cranes and or helicopters Tracey got bored and reversed out to a round of applause.


So here's Trouble, that's the lamb not the apprentice shepherd, Tracey named her as that's what she was. For a while anyway.

Pay back

Having had such a lovely run of weather there had to be a time when we had to pay for all the glorious sunshine and today Rock HQ has been swathed in clouds and suffering deluge after deluge. It cleared long enough for me to walk the pack around the bonsai mountain twice. Once because I went to see the Technohermit, the other because I was so bored inside watching paint dry. We are decorating, I say we, Tracey is doing most while I moan about how boring it is, how messy it gets, how much furniture I have to move and whats that bloody cat doing sat on the newly glossed windowsill (I swear it was grinning at me as it jumped down and left a) ginger bum print and fur on glossy surface b) paw prints across oak floor boards)
It is the Technohermits birthday today. We thought long and hard about what to get a man who has lived on the side of a hill for the last 46 or so years, in the end we decided on a small hand axe. I have chopped some wood for him a while back and faced with his chopper I was amazed he ever cut anything so I knew he would appreciate a nice shiny new one. His best cutting implement is something that looks like it should be in a museum, used for laying hedges and about as sharp as a badgers arse. He also uses a meat cleaver which is sharper than his badgers bum blade but only in so far as a rats backside is sharper than a badgers.
To say he was happy with his birthday gift would be an understatement, the top half of his head almost fell of he grinned so broadly. Taking a few practice slices through the air he thanked me profusely. No problem I assured him as I stepped back out of swinging range, just be careful. Any plans for the birthday boy? I asked Well he was off to town to have fish and chips. Excellent plan. I left him chopping imaginary logs.
This evening the phone rang. He was just phoning to thank me for the axe, he had eaten the chocolate cake Tracey had made him and was just back from having a slap up meal of fishcakes and chips. I could tell he was happy. "One thing though," he hesitated, "one thing, have you got any plasters I could have?"

Poke it and see

More snow today so the bale and I were saved from a close encounter which is more than could said for Steve the extreme Rayburn repairman. He has been here before, he is the SAS of Rayburn repairmen, brutally efficient, clinical in his execution of failed oil burning appliances.
The fact that I answered the door to him wearing the front half of a heavy horse harness, blinkers and so on did not faze him, he brushed aside my stammering explanation with a sooted hand, if S and M was my thing he was not to judge. It seemed a fruitless task to explain that our heavy horse harness had just arrived by courier and was deficit instruction manual so I was wearing bits and holding up other bits of brass buckled black strap work whilst Tracey adjusted lengths of complex leather work.
I kept quiet and made him a coffee while Tracey steered me round the kitchen. He unrolled his prayer mat and knelt before the stricken Rayburn. Now it is the heart of the cottage, it is our cooker, heats our water and when we can afford it it runs our central heating. The later part of its function has not been operational since January. 2009. As some of the furthest corners of the cottage are getting decidedly damp, and as luck would have it we had 500 litres of oil more than we anticipated we thought it a good idea to get the heating fixed and dry out the house.
We watched as Steve carefully dismantled the control panel. 3 inches of dust fell out.
"Ow ogen ave ee gok oo ave it erviced?" I asked through a mouthful of bridle.
"Every six months" came the terse reply, Steve was concentrating, which wire was it, the red or green? A mistake now and it would be all over.
Beads of sweat formed on his brow. "Have you got a stick?" he asked. I passed him the riding crop. He threw that away muttering something about perverts and pulled a thin allen key from his bulging utility belt. He poked the Rayburn. It burst into life. The radiators began to warm. The master had taught the Rayburn well, any further misdemeanor would result in a thrashing. Steve finished his coffee and patted me on the shoulder. "I'll leave you to err.... get on with whatever your getting on with then."He winked at Tracey who was adjusting my girth.
"Ank ooo" I replied. He rolled up his mat and made to leave, Tracey placated him with money and pork and finally convinced him that I was in fact normal and safe to be around and nothing strange was happening . He grinned, "Its ok, I see all sorts in my job. "
Probably not the best time then for the technohermit to step out of the shower room and ask for help finding his soap on a rope.

Pit Pony

Years ago this little chap might have been unlucky enough to be a pit pony, although thinking about it in reality that should read, years ago there might have been a miner unlucky enough to have Trevor the shitland as his pit pony. That's more like it. So faced with the task of getting some coal to Mad Keith who lives halfway up the bonsai mountain, on the dark side, he wont see the sun for another month at least, William "volunteered" to venture out into the frozen wastes carrying a sack of the black stuff to the frozen Hermit's abode. William is a tame and calm animal whereas Trevor is a maniac who would stamp the brains out of anyone who dared ask him for help.

Williams growing, so after finding straps and fiddly bits that fitted his girth we set off and despite never having carried a load on snow and ice before he did a grand job. Mission successful and a nice juicy apple was given as a reward.



















Hermit was pleased with result and made the really helpful observation that I had brought my horse with me. The "Funny I hadn't noticed" reply was wasted on him. But William laughed between mouthfuls.

The yard is still an ice rink providing lots of opportunity for amusement for all the animals and the dogs have taken to sitting to watch the chaos unfold. Current chaos involves catching sheep. The Ryelands are coping quite well with being wrestled to the ground and having eye ointment squirted all over their faces in the hope that at least a micro gramme will get into the right place. They seem to be recovering and their appetites are returning now they can see what they are eating.

The missing link

Dinner last night at Rock HQ was an unexpectedly spartan affair and unusually a totally vegetarian meal. We were anticipating a feast of hot dogs from our own sausages and had stocked up on rolls and onions especially. The Technohermit was given a nice roast pork dinner but we favoured the Rock HQ fast food as an option for a change. The primary ingredient, the sausage was to be collected by the Stable Sprite from the butchers where he was having two of his massive boars done as bacon and sausage. Stable Sprite is immensely proud of his big boars and loves to tell everyone how they were itty bitty bottle fed runts who were at deaths door had he not fed them every 15 seconds and kept them warm with his own body heat. Somehow these wretched little specimens managed to survive their deprivations of piglethood and were now transformed into an abundance of rashers and 200 pound of sausage. We knew this because Stable Sprite sent us a text gleefully explaining he was now inundated with pork filled tubes. He had so many in fact that the butchers had bought some off him. The springs on his van were threatening to break he had so many stacked in the back. If you wanted sausage he was your Sprite.
Happily we waited for his arrival. It was getting late. No worries, he would probably drop them off when he took his apprentice gremlin to football practice. The clock ticked. We waited. Time passed hungrily. No sign of the Stable Sprite or his gleaming white chariot stuffed with pork treats.
Finally, just before we passed out with hunger I decided to cook the onions and we had bread rolls filled with onions livened up with brown sauce.
I sent a text, a gentle enquiry as to the whereabouts of the missing links, perhaps he had been struck down ill, or his van was upside down in a ditch the wheels spinning aimlessly as he hung in his seat belt awaiting rescue, or bandits had hijacked him after his prize sausage, all manner of things could have befallen the poor Stable Sprite. Should we phone the Police, what would we tell them, that we suspected someone had been secretly coveting his sausage and he was in extreme peril. Anxiously we waited.
A text. Finally the answer to our enforced vegetarianism.

Sorry, I forgot to get your sausages.

Mad as a bucket of frogs

Encounters with The Technohermit are seldom dull. He is, to say the least, a character, and famous not only on these pages but has appeared in The Guardian where he featured as a point of interest on a walk they were advertising. In their version the journalist portrays him as a kindly benevolent figure who waves nicely to passers by as he looks up from his daily toil, whereas in reality passers by might be a tad startled when he emerges from the bracken naked, they might even walk a bit quicker when they see his bone pile and certainly they will wonder why "Tim" is painted on a piece of tin halfway up the hill.

Today's encounter with the Technohermit was its usual baffling mix of entertainment and terror. I had found a bicycle clip on the lane, only one person alive still uses them, and he lives close by. Dutifully I wandered around the hill and approached his lair in the pouring rain. He had, like any insane hermit taken refuge from the battering the weather was giving the hill. I stood by the bone pile and summonsed him.

"Techno!"

Nine wet dogs and I waited quietly hoping that the time he was taking answering was due to him finding clothing. He appeared clutching a bucket and nodded at me. I handed over the clip. His face lit up and he dropped the bucket of frogs he was holding. The dogs took it in turns to sniff the bucket. Mad inspected the bicycle clip for signs of damage. I had an overwhelming urge to ask, I knew it would be a mistake but I couldn't help myself. "Frogs Techno, what are they for?" He stowed the clip in what resembled a trouser pocket.
"Its the rain see, does em good"
"The frogs?"
"No the springs"
"Springs?" The frogs writhed apologetically as the explanation was getting convoluted.
"Ah" he nodded excitedly "Cleans em out"
"The frogs?" the image of a hermit cleaning out frogs appeared in my tortured brain
"No the springs"
"Springs?"
"Ah, washes em right out see" he pointed to the frogs busy trying to leap to freedom, the Berners gathered round, this was new.
The Technohermit pointed to a Lucozade bottle half buried in the hillside, water gushing out. "I got lots of water now see, but these keeps popping out, damned things" he gently tapped the bucket with his foot. "I lets em go over there see" He pointed up the hill to where the frogs were to get their born free moment. The more lucid amongst the inhabitants of the bonsai mountain might have dropped them below the spring where you gather water rather than above it. The endless recycling of amphibians would wear thin eventually.

I told him our tale of frogs blocking the water supply recently, he trumped that by catching another frog from the pop bottle and telling me tale of how Murphy had to dig up half the hill trying to trace a kamikaze frog that cut the supply to The Ghost House.

I turned to head off down the track. "Ere!" he shouted after me. I almost made it away to safety. "I keep getting people takin me picture!"
I looked suitably blank, "You know them walkers, keep stopping and takin bloody photos and summat."
"That's because you 're famous Techno"
"Am I?"
I explained about the newspaper article and how its displayed on the pub wall. "In the paper am I?"
"Yes"
"I'm not on that bloody internet then?"
I thought carefully, he was unarmed apart from a pail of frogs, I was downhill of him, I was sure I could outrun him.
"Maybe" I took a step backwards.
"Ah" he nodded, he seemed satisfied, "Not sure what that is mind" he said deftly plucking another frog from the flow. He crouched like a wicket keeper watching the spout. You know when the Hermit has finished with you.
"I'll show you one day Techno" I headed for the sanity of Rock HQ.

Tea for two

You do forget how small they were, the piglets when they arrived were tiny compared to the massive porkers taken to the abattoir today.

The pic below is taken in the same trailer, they are as tall as the side bar now and not quite so cute as the little piggy pictured above.

It all went like clockwork today. The Stable Sprite rode shotgun as I abused Rene's clutch once more towing a horse box of potential roast dinners to the abattoir. I even found a parking space, always a problem as the small village with the small slaughterhouse gets rather busy as hordes of smallholders descend on a Tuesday with a motley collection of animals ready for the big sleep.

I must admit that I experienced a twang of jealousy as the three smallholder queuing before me all had matching Land Rovers attached to insanely large shiny clinically clean trailers containing two beasts cowering at the far end, spotless wellies and Barbour jackets that were missing the obligatory dog paw prints that my clothing has. Each new arrival meant delay as they messed around with a bewildering amount of paperwork and soon a backlog of impatient smallholders threatened mutiny. Well one did anyway.

There was a new form to fill in, always a nice surprise, this one committed me to disinfecting my vehicle within 24 hours of transporting the animals, failure to do so means a criminal offence. Hurrah for bureaucracy. I handed in the sheaf of papers that allowed me to eat pork for the rest of the year (providing the vet passed the meat as fit) and made encouraging noises at the Stable Sprites reversing skills. He achieved something of a minor celebrity status as he was the only one able to reverse with a trailer and soon he was doing good deeds for the squeaky clean smallholders by maneuvering their vehicles into the right places thus clearing the bottle neck. Meanwhile I chased ill prepared smallholders out of the yard and wished plagues on those that had abandoned their vehicles while they just popped in to the cutting room to give a list of cuts the butchers were to apply to their lickle lamby and wickle piggy. Why they cant sort that out before they hand the hapless beasts over like what I do is beyond me.

Pigs suitably dealt with I went back in a now sterilised Rene, the little green pressure washer got some of the crap off him at least, to fetch the pork.

Stuart the butcher received the carcasses and once again praised the quality, good to hear, and for dinner I had the traditional belly pork slice to sample the goods. Fantastic in a word.

Night fell on Rock HQ. Quieter than last night, no pigs grunting for apples by the front door. There a was a strange sound though, not Bronny, more of a crash, an incomprehensible oath and a dull thud. I opened the front door and the Technohermit fell in. "Oh hello" he sounded quite surprised to see me. I was very surprised to see him as he struggled to his feet. "Cuppa Techno?" we are on first name terms now

"Only if you are having one" he delivered the correct response that initiated The Marches Tea Ceremony, a ritual as old as the drink itself

"The kettles on" I showed him to a chair

"Ah go on then" and so the ceremony continued perfectly right up to the "Got any more milk" a classic variation only known to those who share the hermits postcode

"Too hot for you?" I countered, he nodded, he knew I was an expert at the ceremony and he slurped his tea down approvingly.

The reason for his visit took an hour to establish. After he watched Emmerdale and Eastenders, having dried out in front of the fire he finally broke the silence. "Got any bread?"

He left clutching a frozen loaf, not entirely convinced it would defrost by breakfast time but happy it had only cost him 50p.

Adventures of a TV repairman

Amidst the chaos of our evening rounds a lone cyclist appeared on the track tonight. This proved a useful distraction for the dogs whilst I made the pigs a new bed. I gave them two bales of fresh straw tonight to make up for the fact that I left a tap on at 6pm yesterday evening and remembered the fact by 10pm, in the meantime the pigs vacated their barn as 500 gallons of cold water had run into their bed.

Once the barking had settled to a level where human ears wouldn't bleed I greeted the cyclist. The Technohermit had ventured our side of the hill to ask a favour. No problem Techno, how can I help (we are on first name terms now)

"I've broken my knob"

"Excuse me?" I got ready to run.

"Its come off in my hand, look."

He opened his dirt encrusted hand to reveal a small black object in his palm. "It's me TV knob, its bust."

Thankful that the Technohermit hadn't really hurt himself I heard myself agreeing to get his TV to the shop for him. He stood for a while.

"I likes me TV."

"Hmmmm" I nodded still examining his knob wondering what mischief he could get into if I gave him some really strong glue.

"Emmerdales good."

I nodded.

"Its on now"

"Is it?"

"Yes I likes Emmerdale."

"Would you like a cup of tea Techno?"

"Only if youre having one!" he shouted over his shoulder as he made his way to the front door with a remarkable turn of speed caused by the lure of the plasma screen TV. "Just a quick one like." Which lasted just as long as Emmerdale did. Uncanny really.

Accidental death

These are the Old English Goats settling down for the night. I haven't been able to photograph it yet but they pile up in this corner, with the chickens and turkey chicks on top of them. They look quite comical. Until this morning when the pile unpiled itself to get to breakfast and one of the turkey chicks continued to snooze. Permanently. Squashed flat under a pile of goat flesh. Two down one to go!

Otherwise its been a productive evening at Rock HQ. Lilly is ignoring the advice from the vet and leaping around. The Technohermit shared his strawberries with me. The pigs chose to behave rather than try to take chunks out of me and we are one step closer to getting the new build done as the bricks are down ready to be filled in with concrete to make the new floor.

Don't stop til you get enough!

The flock have discovered there is a new bale in the yard and have set about it with enthusiasm.

A strange twist to the Technohermit sage last night. The phone rang at 10.15 pm and after the compulsory who's that conversation it was finally decided that I should answer the phone in case it was burglars. It was in fact worse, it was The Technohermit ringing to tell me that he had hurt his shoulder. Really bad. In fact he couldn't move his head, left or right. For a few hideous seconds I wondered whether he was phoning to ask me to go around and massage him but thankfully it was just to ask advice. Take two paracetamol and lie down.

Not convinced of my healing powers or medical advice he reluctantly said goodbye. In the background I could hear the TV speaker straining to cope with the volume setting.

He didn't phone this morning so I assumed all was well.

By home time I was convinced he was lieing down in his hovel unable to move so first job back at Rock HQ was to do a Hermit welfare check. As I climbed up the track to his den I could clearly hear the theme tune to Emmerdale. He shuffled outside once I made myself heard. He was fine, taken 3000mg of paracetamol and couldn't feel a thing.

Hopefully he has run out now. We shall see when I take his dinner around tomorrow.

Normal service has been resumed

We have had many strange evenings here at Rock HQ since we began our smallholding adventure, like the time thirty or so Orthodox Jews turned up in our yard, complete with all the gear, or the paramedic looking for an old man (not me) not to mention the predicaments the animals get into, far too many to list, but it all adds up to full and interesting lifestyle.

Tonight's turn for the surreal involved The Technohermit and a broken TV. Yesterday when I dropped his meal off I was not in the best of moods, a combination of tiredness and hunger made me feel less than inclined to go around the bonsai mountain we live on to drop off his Sunday roast. One word about lateness or him not getting enough roast spuds and he would be wearing them. He has the knack of surprising me when I get there, usually by appearing suddenly from behind me or jumping naked out of the bracken. Unusually he was waiting quietly by his gate with a big beaming smile, as I approached he gripped my arm and thanked me profusely for the help we had given him, he wasn't used to having good neighbours. This lowered my guard obviously because I heard myself say "Don't worry I will be around at seven tomorrow"

Seven tonight found Tracey and I outside his lair armed with wire cutters and a length of TV aerial cable. His TV wasn't getting a good picture, not sure why, maybe the aerial, maybe the cable he didn't know. The TV was wired into an assortment of car batteries charged from the generator. The screen was a fuzzy mess of black and white snow with a deafening roar from the speakers. "I cant get no picture!"he shouted "Bin like that all weekend!"

Finally I managed to turn the volume down and once I stemmed the blood loss from my ears I set about the task of reconnecting the aerial cable in the dim light of what appeared to be his bedroom. The sense of rising panic caused by my location mixed in with my inability to see wasn't helped by his inability to hold the torch steady and so the simple task of rejoining the severed co-ax seemed to take forever.

There then followed a comedy of errors involving a 70 year old hermit, a ladder and a rusty aerial, him asking if there was any picture as he turned it, my cries of NO! relayed by an ever patient Tracey back to the aerial tweaker.

Finally a ghostly image flickered onto the screen, barely visible was some sort of programme involving an air ambulance. It was like a magic eye puzzle, if you looked long and hard enough you could just about make out an image. Mad Keith joined me by the TV having safely descended the ladder, he folded his arms and stared intently at the screen. "What do you think of that?" he asked

"Not good" I replied

"Not good?" he sounded surprised, incredulous would a be more accurate description.

"No" I began, then I had a sudden sinking feeling, an hour as a TV repair man was wearing thin, "Was the picture like this before?" I asked, I had a suspicion I already knew the answer.

"No, it was like that" he pointed to the flickering screen

"Like that when it was broken?"

"No, before."

"That's what it was like before? It was always like this?"

"Yes, good innit"

"This is how you watch telly?"

"Ahh" he nodded

I turned to leave, Tracey was still relatively safe outside.

"I cant hear it now though" he shouted after me, "I mean I got a picture but I cant hear it"

I paused in the doorway, looking over my shoulder I could see his face lit up by the struggling TV full of concern over the lack of sound. I turned and reached over and slowly turned the volume switch back to its previous deafening level.

He grinned.

I left him to it.

Shear fun in the real world!

Back in the real world, the one where Tracey has had to do all the work while I stroll around the countryside with my friends, there is lots of work to be done. Yesterday passed slowly as I recovered from the exertions of the trek, both feet had swelled from bruising so I spent a jolly day with them in a bucket of cold water reading and drinking a few beers. We went to The Harp to celebrate and had the usual fantastic meal, once again David cooked a steak that could not be surpassed in any way shape or form.


Sunday dawned, along with a new batch of aches and pains but the shearing had to be done so no more lounging in the garden. Typically instead of being in the yard for breakfast the Ryelands were all over the place so very slowly the round up began. By the time this butch itinerant shearer arrived we were missing last years lambs, Sandy, Hercules, Maude and Bonny, two ewes, Roxy and Ebony and our Suffolk cross, Meg. Tracey volunteered to walk around the hill to seek them out whilst I kept up a steady supply of tea and chocolate hob nobs for the Shearer Man. Some of you may recognise him, for he is famous, not for being the sheep equivalent of Vidal Sassoon but for being the captain of Hereford Rugby Club.

Whilst Tracey was doing the Bo Peep bit he manfully wrestled the sheep and gave them their annual short back and sides, all the time keeping them calm by singing to them (see photos above and below)

Tracey returned with the missing flockers apart from Meg. Now we have already lost three Suffolks since we have been here, see postings for M.I.A.s to read the full story, and again it looked like Meg was now M.I.A and probably on her way to a pie filling plant, caught up in the annual roundup.

Job done the Shearer Man waived his fee donating it to the Prostate Cancer charity, a big gesture as the amount would have bought him five miles, so many thanks Pritch, you cant sing but you are a generous soul.

Once the sheep were over their trauma they wandered off, cooler if not happy.

Early this evening I took Mad Keith his dinner. Whilst we were chatting a lone sheep wandered down the trail towards the rest of our flock gathered on the technohermits lawn. Meg had returned, safe and crustless. She now has a choice, stay hot all summer or allow me to shear her by handshears, and does anyone remember how that turned out our first year?