You’re a milk machine…

‘Honey, honey…’ ahh, ABBA. They have quite a few songs adaptable to the crofting lifestyle. But this one cuts the mustard for Dryope (she is a cow before you ask and no we didn’t name her). Just need to change the lyrics from ‘love’ to ‘milk’ and it fits the bill. The dizzy thing in the song? Aye, have that too, thats’s just from standing back up again after trying to get the machine on her. And not only that, bending down low next to a cow takes a wee bit of courage, particularly if they show signs of wanting … Continue reading You’re a milk machine…

The 7” Shingles by The Unusable North

I’ve got the 7” shingles, the wrong lying outcome The 12 pile broken mix Just put them in the wheelbarrow, grab yourself a mallet See what we can smash up I want some slate scree and revamp, a dodgy little section With a merry wee wish and bang From slates for the roof to chippings galore But still, the whole ones left over for sure. Swing a mean machine Want rid of the moss We were bent down, hands down, little bit of sit down Giving it a good wallop across All the punters will say And you’d be join … Continue reading The 7” Shingles by The Unusable North


If Petula Clark had sung during the coronavrus… When you’re alone and life is making you lonely, You can always go downstairs. When your fridge is a teaser, all the food in the freezer Seems to help, I know, downstairs Just listen to the WhatsApp of the friends in other cities Linger on the iMac where the zoom call chats are witty When can you booze? The lights are much brighter there You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares, So go downstairs Things will be great when you’re downstairs No finer sofa for sure, downstairs… She obviously … Continue reading Downtown…

As you like it.

The Crofter is home again. He got back having only been gone for five weeks. As he checked the orchard and polytunnel I was able to confirm: I had not needed the knacker man, no plants had died in his absence (to my knowledge), we had had no hospital admittance, no vet call outs and no calves. Not bad going, if I do say so myself. Ok, I had had to get assistance with the plumbing, a pig had gone on the run, I had brushcut a field, we got the full paramedic experience, and oh, I had had a … Continue reading As you like it.

The Pirates of Per Chance.

Meet the three wee pigs. Who, after their arrival (ie, one day to collect, three days distracted with plumbing) decided to put on a show in line with Gilbert and Sullivan’s Penzance production. Scene one, act one began as they were given access to explore their new surroundings. The electric fence was soon tested but they showed their savviness. I breathed out a sign of relief, and with that, a sudden sprint ensued, a synchronised limbo dance move and all three went straight under the bottom wire and off they trotted. Yes, off they frolic in their new sense of … Continue reading The Pirates of Per Chance.

500 miles

Ahh, lockdown. The time to sit back, get the spring cleaning done and spend some quality time with the kids. Aye, but no good story starts with the spring cleaning. Things had started off ok and were going tickety-boo until soon after I’d written the Rock Chick post. Then someone (not me, I hasten to add) decided to ramp up the tempo and figured I was ready for the next level up and needed a new challenge (all terms useful for zoom chats with all normal urban souls but maybe more applied to Scrabble than scrambling about like mad). The … Continue reading 500 miles

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