Tales From The Rock

Ginger nut thief!

2009-12-07T17:27:00.000Z

Its been another washout of a day at HQ. Ben the super soldier got a teensy bit emotional when his little sister turned up for breakfast. They set off for a day of visiting friends and family while we attempted to clear jobs off the to do list. As ever something or other put the proverbial fly in the ointment and while I was on an errand in town Tracey sent a frantic text message asking me to return as Geisha the dopey Anglo Nubian was in the yard with a severe leg injury. It is just over a year since we came home from work and found her hanging by her back left leg from the barbed wire fence. Somehow she has managed to cut the same leg, not deeply but putting a massive tear in her skin so that he fur was hanging and you could see the tendon. In pain but not bleeding she has had a shot of anti biotic and sprayed with the magic blue spray. Currently she is wrapped up in a goat coat (yes there are such things) and in a little den of hay in the stable. Tired and in shock she demonstrated a capacity for recovery by stealing three ginger nut biscuits as we sat and gave her fuss and TLC while having a well earned coffee break.

He's back!

2009-12-06T23:14:00.000Z

Coming home

2009-12-05T20:08:00.000Z

Final preparations are underway for Ben's return to Rock HQ. He is as I type having a farewell drink with the boys in Cyprus before getting on the plane and coming home. We are one of the lucky families who's son has survived a tour of duty in the war physically unscathed and we count our blessings for that. We are now looking forward to weeks of him eating us out of house and home (sorry was that your bacon?), shouting at the dogs (Yes they are muddy), commandeering the TV remote (theres nothing on) , surprise guests (yes they can stay) , loud music (that's OK I like my ears bleeding) and forgetting to wash up. We don't think the war will have changed him that much.

Slightly flushed

2009-12-04T21:52:00.003Z

Any hope of losing weight before I die vanished with the unwrapping of the first of the new bacon. Without doubt its the best bacon I have ever eaten, and I am ashamed to say all I have eaten all day apart from a hideous concoction of chips and cheese I shared as an experiment at the local pub.

We went Christmas shopping today, a lively experience and one that was made oh so memorable by having to use a public convenience. Unsure how the new toilet worked I stood guard as Tracey went and availed herself of the hi tech facilities of the self cleaning unisex toilet cubicle. I was not sure that the door actually locked so my presence ensured privacy for my beautiful and oh so patient wife. Suitably relieved we exchanged places, I nipped in before the door closed. Tracey now outside realised my mistake about the same time I did and could do nothing to prevent the tragedy. I, inside the hi tech computerised cubicle could not make the toilet aware that a human had entered as the door was closing and so it should not, under any circumstance begin its automatic wash and disinfect cycle. The toilet disappeared as suddenly as the jets of water and the pine fragrance replaced it. The door opened cycle complete. I lurched onto the dry pavement a bit on the damp side but smelling of spruce. Nothing was said. Tracey did a very good job of not laughing.

Free lunch?

2009-12-03T21:04:00.000Z

Visitors to Rock HQ frequently get dragged into the chaos that is our lives. Anyone who has ideas of a free lunch or a nice cream tea on the patio watching the rural idyll unfold around them have a sudden reality check as they are inevitably handed a spade or some such implement and asked to help or they are instructed to "stand there and don't let them past" as various beast hurtle straight for them intent on escape. Visitors are told, often, don't wear anything you want to keep clean. Within seconds of arrival they are almost as grubby as we are.

Today was going to be different. Some friends were calling for a spot of lunch. I finished the concreting in plenty of time in the only sunbeam that has dared show itself at the smallholding in weeks. All was set for a relaxing time. Indeed, so assured was I that we would be able to eat our home made sausage rolls in peace I had a preemptive cuppa. The phone rang. Apollo, above, had jumped the fence and was lose on someone else land. We were just putting on foul weather gear and wellies (the sunbeam had given up and the rain returned) just as our surprised lunch guests got out of the car. Hardly time to say hello they were bundled into Rene and we set off to rescue the naughty pony. Several muddy fields later order was restored and we finally sat to a late lunch. Our tired muddy guests found the sausages delicious. Free lunch, no chance of that here.

Missing Chickens and Giant Hamsters!

2009-12-02T19:38:00.003Z

This is Apollo in his summer coat relaxing at HQ. He is now in a field causing havoc, covered in mud and jumping fences to get to other horses to play piggy back, the sooner he is done the sooner order will be restored and we can all relax.

Any ideas about finishing the concreting were washed away in yet another downpour. I did manage to get a ton down yesterday despite the best efforts of the frost and then more rain. A two hour window late afternoon meant I finally got round to laying the slab in front of the back stable which has the much sought after "sort of" finish. This means its sort of flat and sort of smooth, all hopes of getting a perfect finish were thwarted by a combination of incompetence and a chicken who decided to try and fly over the newly laid wet stuff in an attempt to reach its perch. As chickens are to flying as fish are to bicycles it fell short of its target and had to be rescued before it became a novelty feature.

Part of the day involved taking the Stable Sprite to get his lambs. A quick trip over to the abattoir and the rewards of his hard labour were safely stowed in the glove box of the car. This was a bit of a disappointment to Stable Sprite who had thought of hiring an articulated lorry with freezer attachments to transport the meat back to his kingdom and who had scoffed at the idea that it would all fit in the boot of Ben's Peugeot. On the subject of which I have almost kept my promise to look after it and not transport animals or their foodstuffs inside the ultra clean car. I am sure he meant live animals so four dead ones don't count, and he completely failed to mention don't carry fencing posts and all the gubbins needed to build a chicken Alcatraz. Talking of chickens, like Stable Sprite and I were on the way to collect the sheep meat I was making the usual death threats to Mr Fox who had by my reckoning had five chickens this week. Shutting the birds away last night we were missing four brown ones and one white. Tracey is very keen that her birds are not on the menu for Mr Fox and a fun time was had searching the hill for the birds or their remains. It was only as I recounted this tale to Stable Sprite that I in fact knew exactly where the missing birds were all the time having been the one who had shut them in the back stable just before laying the concrete in front of it.

Back to the minuscule meat portions. Sheep are easily recognisable mainly I would hazard to suggest by their thick woolly fleece. When they are departed of this world the mortal remains are devoid of wool and therefore look, how shall we put this, a bit smaller than when last bleating. Stable Sprites lambs were small fully clothed. Naked and split in two they looked like giant rats. NO, rats are bigger and have tails, they looked like giant hamsters. He had hoped to cut each leg into three pieces he muttered casting an eye over the tiny rodent like carcasses. Well you still can I happily pointed out, bite sized.

The fox sat where?

2009-12-01T19:39:00.002Z

Poppy making sure she gets a good coating of the latest offering from the fox.

A good day at Rock HQ despite a frighteningly early start. Famous last words last night as my head hit the pillow were along the lines of not having to get up early. Tracey, who is so organised quietly reminded me that The Stable Sprites white chariot is kaput, broken sump meant the engine melted so I had remembered I had volunteered mine and Rene's services to get his lambs to the slaughterhouse.

The first of December was heralded by a severe frost and it took as long to defrost Rene as it did to drive over and collect the sheep. Seeing the sun rise in spectacular technicolour over our hill from Stable Sprites kingdom almost made up for getting kicked where real men should never be kicked four times in quick succession by an ungrateful Welsh Cross sheep that I was carrying to its freedom from the trailer, Stable Sprite having spared its life as it was "pretty". It does get lonely up in these hills but hearing him describe a potential food source as pretty was a mite disconcerting.

The abattoir was its usual chaotic cheerfulness of surly smallholders eagerly pushing in the queue and dropping off their pride and joys to be transformed from the wife's pets to choice cutlets. For some reason whenever we are there the rest of the world assumes mine and Stable Sprites role is to guide trailers to the pens, unload the live cargo's and move the nervous smallholder away from the pens sobbing as wickle fwuffy wamb skips off to buy the celestial pasture.

I also intervened in a fracas between Steve (uncanny) who has to be the tallest slaughter man ever and Steve (really) who was a very irate smallholder who's sheep were not given permission to unload as they were too scruffy. All the other pens had nice clean sheep who looked like they had been to the salon for a wash and blow dry. His looked like, well, sheep. The type that you see in a field, especially in winter. However, these are not the sheep abattoirs accept, oh no, they have to be the cut and blow dried types or the slaughter men get cross as the mud clashes with the blood on their aprons. Steve, who had not thought to take his sheep to the salon was sent off by Steve who incidentally had a huge knife and its a golden rule of mine that you always side with the one carrying weapons.

As Stable Sprite reversed his trailer in I was interrogated as to the cleanliness of the beasts therein. I was sure they were clean and tidy, might not have the neat trimmed backsides and tummies of the others awaiting their fates but Stable Sprite looks after his animals well. He had also put them in a nice straw lined trailer overnight. We all held our breath (men, sprites and sheep, the sheep especially at the sudden appearance a giant armed with a razor sharp blade) as the tall knife wielding sheep inspector applied his mark one wet n muddy detector, a hand (his own, he was strange but not that strange), and judged that the sheep were OK. Cold but OK. We breathed a sigh of relief, except the sheep who realised a bit too late that in their case cleanliness really was going to be next to Godliness.

We left them with the knife man. Tomorrow they will be very cold. But soon warmed up in the Rayburn.

Rain or Shine

2009-11-30T19:58:00.003Z

Mostly rain, but tomorrow, no matter what the weather I am going to do the concreting. Or build the chicken run. Or maybe chop the logs. Then move the logs, sort them and stack them. Perhaps the ditch around the kennel will be the priority. So much to do I am spoilt for choice!

The North Farce

2009-11-29T17:51:00.000Z

A week has passed since we tried to get the concreting done and surprise surprise, its been a lorra lorra laughs but its still not done. The main reason for the lack of progress is the quantity of water that's falling from the sky. Its only stopped raining for about 27 seconds this week and it hailed for 16 of those. Everything is a soggy mess, the beagles have got their very own stream running through the centre of the kennel block, last seen they were constructing a raft out of dog bowls and baskets. All the inhabitants of the ranch are seeking shelter from the continuous deluge and its only the humans who are committed enough to brave the elements and carry essential supplies to hungry residents who are warm and cosy in various shelters dotted along the smallholding. Fed up with being stuck in doors I suggested that we walk through Worzel Wood to get some air and as its under the trees we shouldn't get so wet. We would have been drier throwing ourselves in the river, which when we last saw it was a small brook, I don't think I have ever walked in such heavy rain. Even the Big Black Mountain Challenge would be classed as dry compared to today's soaking.
A couple of interesting diversions today, one when we were missing a Bernese Mountain Dog, Bliss. The piteous whining soon located her, stuck in the roof of the stables. They have taken to climbing up on the bales and resting in the overhang watching goings on through the gaps in the woodwork. Unfortunately for Bliss her siblings thought it funny to knock the stack of bales down that she had used to get there. She was soon rescued and a grateful Berner is always something that cheers you up and I needed cheering up.
The second diversion was a massive sense of humour failure over my nice new gortex jacket what I bought last "summer" for the Offas Dyke Ordeal. Knowing full well the Great British Summer would more than likely require a new waterproof I set about purchasing one off Ebay. The North Face is my preferred brand but incredibly expensive and so I was instantly attracted to an unbelievable offer of a brand new last years model North Face for the bargain price of £69! The RRP was more like £370 so this indeed was a bargain. Free postage as well, all the way from China. Fantastic. But wait, don't they make fakes. Not wanting to be ripped off I emailed a few customers who bought the same jacket, yes, very pleased, a real deal, purchase with confidence. I did. It arrived. It looked great, all the labels and everything. Super.
Until today when worn for the second time the Velcro cuff strap came off in my hand, the sleeve unstitched, it had the jacket had the waterproof quality of the paper packaging it arrived in and as Tracey pointed out I should have known something was wrong as the stitched brand labels are a bit wonky and if you look closely they are spelt wrong.
Anyone want to buy a North Farce jacket? One careful owner?

Broke again

2009-11-28T19:15:00.000Z

I take a lot of photographs, on average I would guess a thousand a month. Most are quick snaps of animal antics, some are thought about and "composed" like the one above of the Offas Dyke a couple of miles along from Rock HQ. Then there are the pictures that log events like today's snow, it just missed us but the hills around us are dusted white. So the camera takes an awful lot of abuse, its carried in my pocket as I go about tasks on the smallholding in all weathers. Unfortunately the latest compact has gone to the great recycling plant in the sky, it died today. I have broken yet another one. For a while the lens has been a bit temperamental, sometimes refusing to come out and play in the mud and rain, and today it eventually deployed but with a bit of a crack across the middle. I'm not sure how I managed this latest act of vandalism, the last one broke when I fell on it after being mugged by a rottweiler and then smothered by a randy pony. The first camera just wore out after months of neglect. So now I am eagerly awaiting 25th of next month. The letter has been sent to Santa who has access to the all bargains at Argos.

Hooves off!

2009-11-27T20:22:00.000Z

Misty is very particular about who she shares dinner with so Trevor has learned to give her a wide berth when dinner arrives. The two of them get on really well and the smallholding is often brought to a standstill due to their antics. Two pint sized ponies charging around whinnying their manes off brings any work to a grinding halt. Not that much is getting done in the monsoon like conditions we are suffering. Still there is always tomorrow. Which incidentally has snow on the forecast!

Lookout Rene

2009-11-26T21:28:00.000Z

Not sure who built this and really not sure how I managed to miss it lurking in the trees at the entrance to Sheepskull lane but this is The Lookout.

Another day of appalling weather, temper and mud. Rene is in need of a new MOT and as usual something nasty went wrong minutes before delivery to the mechanics. The hideous metallic grating sound revealed itself as worn brake pads on the back drivers side and as I am so expert at all things mechanical, and as I just knew where some brake fluid was and instantly found the magic wheel nut that undid the special head lock nuts on his alloys whilst coincidentally having a new set of brake pads that came when I bought the brute I dutifully set about saving money by grovelling in the mud and being a real man mechanic. Warning signs that all would not go smoothly were apparent from the outset but I chose to ignore them, things like only finding 3 out of four pads was a trifle annoying but I persevered. Soon the wheel was off, I was wet and dirty, but after a quick check I found the pads were in fact the ones required and all was well. Except for one millimetre of bother.

The nut on the brake pipe was 11mm. The spanner set was deficit 11mm. I took a deep breath while the Berners were sat around waiting for the excitement to begin. Not wanting to fail I searched the workshop, no lack of spanner would stop me today. An hour passed and I had amassed three 12mm spanners, two 10mm, an 11mm socket that was not deep enough to fit, a broken adjustable wrench, four assorted screwdrivers, a solid paintbrush, a drill with a flat battery, chaffed knuckles and a seething temper. The Berners were treated to a homage to Basil Fawlty as Rene was kicked, told that there was always one and he was it, reassembled, left in the rain and ignored. A soothing cuppa was delivered by my oh so patient (and really poorly) and beautiful wife who told me not to worry as the nice man called Steve at the garage would fix it. The only highlight of the day was that I found the fourth pad buried in sheep pooh in the back of the heavily soiled Rx4. I knew it would be there,I am after all a champion hoarder and the throwing away of a new brake pad, whether it fitted or not would have caused me endless sleepless nights.

The best yet!

2009-11-25T21:00:00.000Z

We are still unable to do any of the real jobs outside due to torrential rain. Stable Sprite popped over today and it stopped raining just long enough for us to take some measurements of the Berner Annexe. All plans to create a model Swiss chalet for them have been shelved due to unexpected economic downturn and the bare essential plan has been approved, so breeze blocks with a roof will have to do until fortune favours the brave again.

The rain does have unexpected bonuses like this rainbow. The best yet!

Five miles out!

2009-11-24T21:54:00.000Z

Our sheep on walkabouts again! Oh for a quad bike or a well trained collie!

Grubs up!

2009-11-23T18:22:00.003Z

Trevor the pocket rocket and the love of his life, Misty sharing a bale.

The curse of the smallholder

2009-11-22T15:52:00.003Z

We planned to put four inches of concrete down today along the side of the stable so that we can get to the back of it without wading through a quagmire. We fell victim to the curse of the smallholder, the weather. Pritch donned full waterproofs and braved the torrent while I hid indoors on the pretence of making breakfast. To the accompaniment of the rain beating down on the conservatory roof we considered the options. As over an inch of rain was falling per hour there was no point in trying to work outside. Even with building a temporary shelter over the proposed path the water levels kept rising. So jobs outside were abandoned until it dries up, which given the current conditions will be around May 2010.

Off on her holidays

2009-11-21T21:27:00.002Z

The local militia are on the whole a helpful bunch and put up with my amateur attempts at animal husbandry. Our paths often cross, my path tends to be a well worn boot trodden dogs at heel path whilst theirs in aboard a top of the range quad bike with collies as optional extras. Courtesies are always exchanged, weather details confirmed and sightings of lost and found sheep compared. Its useful for all concerned given there is a 500 acre wilderness behind our homes that as many eyes as possible are watching the hills for signs of trouble.

Our Ryelands fit the category with a capitol T.

Take last Wednesday for instance. A new militia man phoned Rock HQ. Some walkers had found a sheep on its back in some signs of distress. He being the first militia they contacted was duty bound to go up onto the ridge and sort out the problem. The problem being this time an extremely fat, almost ball like ewe called Roxy who has an enormous capacity for self harm and has twice been dragged from deaths door after prolonged periods spent on her back. Third time she was still lucky and the militia man took her back to his farm and fed her while he tried to find out who was mad enough to own such a daft specimen of sheep. Rene served as a transporter and the fat madam was collected from a farm some six miles away and returned to base. The militia were rewarded with a nice box of biscuits and Roxy was reunited with the rest in the yard.

Today I went for a stroll over the ridge in the early morning torrential rain, the low cloud reduced visibility to around ten yards, but it was fun and I found breakfast (more mushrooms). What I didn't find was sheep.

Back at HQ another militia phone call. Two sheep, one desperately weak had been found bearing our tags. On our way. Now one of the differences between smallholders and real farmers is that real farmers have trailers. So once again the seatless Rene was used as a sheep transporter, much to the surprise of the militia who for a few moments thought we had lost our trailer en route, satisfied that we had just lost our minds she helped lift the "exhausted" Ryeland into the back of the Rx4. This time sausages were given as a token of our appreciation. The cause of our journey across the county was immediately identified as Roxy, who has obviously caught the travel bug and is keen on sampling other farmers bed and breakfast facilities. I am hopeful this wanderlust is sorted as the rewards for the militia are worth more than the sheep!

Water Breaks Its Neck

2009-11-20T20:50:00.000Z

Only time to post this picture of a local spot that we only discovered the other day, a magical place called Water Breaks Its Neck. Its been a busy day here, the metal work in my arm took a hammering from some deft axe work, the trees felled a few weeks ago are gradually being reduced to fire sized logs, worth the effort when you can sit by a roaring fire, but a huge task, especially in the rain. I also got the rest of the sausages from the butchers so tonight's dinner was........ a cheese salad.

The missing link

2009-11-19T20:17:00.001Z

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.

Thats my Boy!

2009-11-18T20:49:00.003Z

Apollo, a very laid back Gypsy Cob, has been causing us a bit of concern for a couple of small reasons. He is a colt, supposedly, but the two vital pieces of anatomy needed to prove it have been conspicuous by their absence. We were beginning to wonder if we had been sold a dud. Since he has had free reign of pastures new something has strange happened. Firstly he has been trying to play piggy back with William and secondly he has started to get fresh with the ladies. This entails sneaking up from behind and taking hold of items of clothing, like hoods and trying to get up close and personal. A quick check of the dangerous end revealed that our boy is a bit of a late developer and is in need of a vet to take away the very things we have so eagerly been waiting to appear.

Danger! Low flying bales

2009-11-17T16:27:00.000Z

For reasons known only to itself this frog, which is the size of a cricket ball decided that it would attempt to gain access to Rock HQ via a 25mm water pipe today. First clue that all was not well with the water supply and that Kermit was making a nuisance of himself once more was a distinct lack of water from the business end of a tap. Having experienced amphibian antics only a week or so ago the source was soon traced, this time without nuclear explosions of temper and without a canine audience. The poor frog doesn't look too well and I must have got to it just after it wedged itself because it hadn't drowned. As Rock HQ does not have a fully equipped med centre that caters for damaged amphibians I left it next to the stream where it may or may not recover.

Feeling very pleased with myself I went about the rounds, feeding and watering. The goats are all confined to barracks at the moment as they have decided that all the choice food around the smallholding is not to their liking. What they really like is the bark off the apple trees. Unfortunately this new act of goat vandalism was not discovered until they had stripped all the bark from eight apple trees. The chances of the trees surviving are about as much as the chance the goats have of being forgiven. Zero. They are now advertised as free to good home and they can bother someone else.

The last of the turkeys bought its celestial ticket today and I was the cause. The hay is in the stables, the goats are the other side of the stable wall. Thinking I was being very clever I selected a choice bale of hay and instead of walking the 16 feet from door to door I thought it would be a good idea to throw it over the partition wall. Not only a good idea as it would save me carrying it but a good idea in that it would be a man test lifting and throwing a bale over a 12 foot wall. This exercise went incredibly well, the bale left me and landed amongst some very surprised goats. A faint squawk alerted me to the potential tragedy about to unfold. Taking the long walk around to the other side I found three very content goats and underneath the bale wings spread out Warner Brothers cartoon style was a very flat very dead turkey. Christmas dinner is now definitely pork. Or goat.

Angels and Demons

2009-11-16T18:18:00.000Z

We had a visit from a guardian angel today in the form of Tracey's mum, she quite unexpectedly gave us a gift that will help Rock HQ stay a viable concern for some time to come. Tracey and I are having a strange time here, working in the paid profession in which we do that involves child protection there are times when you have to take stock of the consequences of work on your own well being. For us doing the right thing is always a priority, for others this features way down the scale in how they live their lives. Unfortunately the good guys don't always win, but win or lose we are determined to see this through and thanks to Jill we have a safety net should the bad guys gain the upper hand.

A consequence of the current problems faced by the human inhabitants of Rock HQ is that we are able to spend some quality time in the beautiful surroundings of our bonsai mountain which can only serve to recharge our batteries.

The power of the bucket

2009-11-15T16:02:00.003Z

Anyone doubting the power of the bucket should take a look at this. We tried to get Maggie back today. The bucket worked. A bit too well.

We managed to get Maggie back to our side of the fence, eventually, but as you can see below we had a few of her new friends that followed the bucket along with us.

Souvenir hunter

2009-11-14T17:56:00.001Z

I went foraging for breakfast this morning and came back from walking the dogs with a selection of fungi which, after a quick google just to double check I had picked Parasol Mushrooms and not its poisonous counterpart, were fried and served with our own eggs scrambled. Almost free food, the eggs when you consider the cost of replacing the birds eaten by Mr Fox and then the corn they scoff probably cost around a hundred pounds each at the moment but it felt good to be eating our own produce. The bacon has to cure for a few weeks yet so not quite a full English and I am ashamed to admit I have eaten almost all of Patches pig since she was turned into rashers in May.

Talking to Ben yesterday eased some of the stress at Rock HQ, he having survived his war is full of stories and we can only imagine the bravery of his men having to cope with him in charge. He was in high spirits and looking forward to coming home. I am looking forward to seeing the Afghan rug he has bought us as a souvenir. As we spoke he described it, about a metre square, so a mat then rather than a rug. He paused, he supposed so, a mat, not a rug, but definitely an Afghan mat, he had got it himself from an abandoned Afghan car. He hoped I didn't mind that it says Corolla across it and its the passenger side mat not the drivers side, but he can absolutely swear its authenticity.
Thanks Ben, not quite what I was expecting but its the thought that counts.

On the Rampage

2009-11-14T09:54:00.000Z

Our three Ryeland Rams at Five Ways Crossing, which is exactly where they shouldn't be, bless them! Crispen on the left is in England while Hercules on the right is in Wales. Leviathan in the middle hasn't decided which way to run yet.
The fact that I am posting this means that the Stable Sprite had indeed given us Oyster Mushrooms for our dinner which were just excellent fried in garlic olive oil, served with sweated spinach and grated Parmesan. So good in fact that I'm off out into the rain to try and find some more!