All quiet on the Western Front…

And other such lies. Life has been far from one of bonbons and more like a need for bourbons for that matter. Things started going amuck about three weeks ago. A burst pipe, then no water supply, three day bonding with a misbehaving water trough, a cow needing extra pre-calving support (ie, feed; not some antenatal class to tell her to practice her hypnobirthing), an overheating polytunnel, a pig on the run for an entire day, and a jungle of seedlings growing like weeds was my equivalent to ‘what level of Scrabble are you?’ while chatting on zoom meetings. Not … Continue reading All quiet on the Western Front…

Rock Chick of the Century

I really don’t think Amy MacDonald was thinking about agriculture when she wrote the lyrics of the ‘Mr Rock and Roll’ song. But, when you spend two mornings picking up stones to clear a field, you do feel like the title. Not in an egotistical sense, but more that you have just shifted more than a 100 stones and that you have a step count higher than a cricketer getting a century. Maybe it’s time Rock Chick got a new image? Not a jumping up and down at a festival or singing along in a studio, but a ‘dancing in … Continue reading Rock Chick of the Century

The elephant in the room

My comment last week about dreaming of being in the Crofter’s shoes in Norway was not made up. It is thought through with awareness of all implications. The view out the window of the industrial builder’s yard. The twice weekly knock, drop and run food delivery. The scandi decor of minimal decorating. Nope, it does not sound dismal to me. I really would think that ideal for completing several things. At home, on the croft, cows, the polytunnel, the laundry, all speak loudly. In comparison, I have two boxes of knitting wool that silently whisper to me every time I … Continue reading The elephant in the room

Cinderelly, Cinderwelly

While many others are able to share about converting egg boxes into Art Deco, recreating famous artwork, or learning Japanese with their children; I am more akin to recreating Cinderella. The Fairy Godmother is called Gin, the lost slipper was put in the loo by the 14 month old and 8pm is the new midnight. We have a chariot, but a Thule Chariot for the bike, not a horse drawn carriage. I’m waiting for my pumpkin seeds to grow. The mice never read the blurb on social distancing, and Gus Gus is a dog (our dog) rather than a mouse … Continue reading Cinderelly, Cinderwelly