Hale new neighbours - Hail!

Last night we had a crashing hail storm - turned the garden white for a while, so it did.

And as I sit here thinking that it's time that I stopped idly dropping in on other people's blogs and do something useful I am being hailed by the hale new neighbours - six calves*. I haven't seen them yet but they're noisy enough. I know there's six because their owner dropped by to warn us they were coming, and by-the-way have you seen the ghost?

Eh!?! We've been here two years and only now does someone bother to tell us that this cottage is supposedly haunted. If I'd known we had a ghost I'd have seen it of course, and blogged it extensively. Opportunities missed eh? The ghost seems to relate to the fact that many years ago a man lived and built coffins here. The woman who came to see us had fond memories of getting into trouble for playing with the brass fittings when she was a kid. I suppose there's a link there somewhere - maybe there's a poor soul with a splinter up its wotsit or missing a brass handle.

I'm just haunted by the need to do some work.

*I'm not sure a calf can be hale really, but I liked the play

Writer's block

When I write 'applying for jobs' this often means watching daytime TV. Cos what happens is you get stuck on how exactly to convey how totally wonderful you are - blank - and then go seek the answer in Doctors.

So there I was yesterday, grappling with my magnificence while Cherie was showing off her cocktail dresses*, when the phone rings. Yet another recruitment professional offering me a job interview. Cor bleeders. Now my head is split in three.

Back at the ranch we've been sent a farm census form with a covering letter politely asking us to take the time (we know you're very busy (watching Bargain Hunt)) please please - oh and by-the-way "I do not need to tell you that the Act states that you could be fined if you do not...".

The form asks about tenure - and there are a variety of options presented - but none of them seem to apply to us because, as we were reminded by a communique from the Crofters Commission : " In law an owner of a croft that does not have a tenant is classed as 'the landlord of a vacant croft'. The Commission's current policy is not to seek letting proposals from an active, resident landlord. Once purchased the croft is considered to be vacant. In law an owner is classed as 'the landlord of a vacant croft' as the croft does not have a tenant.)" [sic]

It's-nothing-to-do-with-being-German-of-course -but- Jussi takes these forms seriously and phoned Rural and Environment Analytical Services at Rural and Environment Research and Analysis Directorate (RERAD) to seek advice on how to complete the form. The answer they gave was to treat the owner occupied crofting land as neither owned nor rented and the owner occupied decrofted land as owned.

Phew.

* ?

Milestones

The Girl's first proper bike.

WenIweralad you were lucky if you had gears, and 5 gears represented the pinnacle. We'd talk excitedly of the possibility of maybe one day having 10 gears, but we knew in our heart of hearts that such dreams would never come true. And here she is, aged 10, with 21 friggin gears! Mama Mia. Grip shift too. And SUSPENSION forks. Lordy lordy.

I've got a bashed up old Cannondale M500 c.1992. It was a darn near top of the range bike when I bought it - aluminium frame, two wheels - the lot. Suspension forks were just coming onto the market - but only as very high end stuff - for loonies who went precipice biking rather than common-or-garden mountain biking - so no suspension forks for me. I don't think The Girl realises just what a good bike this is. Fifty quid. Bargain. Should last her for years.

Hello flower

Mighty greenish white plumes of slightly fluffy looking stuff. I should have been quicker to realise what was happening to my rhubarb and when I checked on the sagacious nettyweb I was told in no uncertain terms that rhubarb flowers must be expurgated forthwith as they exhaust the root stock and diminish stalk production. So, not quite forthwith, more like eighthwith, me and The Girl set off armed with Jussi's brutal stable knife to do the deed. We removed several flower heads like the ones pictured from one of the rhubarb patches. The pictures look dark and grainy cos that's the sort of day we had yesterday - dark and drizzly and dreich - and we have the same today. But it's heading South readers so you'd better be rid of those smug grins.

We had some sun last week. I was out planting and this bird seems to use the dog rose in the corner of the veg patch as a territorial marker and was singing its wee head off all the while (its tweeting would put Unite union negotiators to shame I'm telling ya). I mean don't get me wrong - spring, birds tweeting - lovely - but this little bugga did somewhat try my patience after a while. No idea what sort of bird it is - only that it is a bloody noisy one and its still there.

Meanwhile our chucks have settled in nicely and are gradually increasing the size of the four-eggs-a-day they are giving us. They also like to help in the other veg patch (they're not allowed in the main patch). Last week I was planting beans, 2 inches deep, and one of the chickens was following carefully picking up each planted bean and throwing it to one side. But it was all done in a very friendly way so I didn't mind. Anyway, we need more visitors to help us eat all these eggs - quite apart from the fact that the grass is growing and therefore need helpful scythewomen and men to play the jolly reaper. And the beer's ready. Good beer too. Even more beer than we have eggs.

And in the middle of applying for another job some idiotic recruitment professional has decided to invite me for an interview so that in my head, on the one hand I've always wanted to build tables, and on the other my life's ambition is to break tables into matchsticks, so to speak. Obviously the jobs aren't so diametrically opposed but I'm still finding the schizophrenia surprisingly troublesome.

Rumours

Lots of people seem to be having hot sunny weather. We've got very wet, very warm weather. Which is nice - and as I keep telling Jussi, good for the veg. But this is day 3 of warm and wet. Please could we have some hot and dry now? Before next weeks forecast cold snap (which will kill off all the seedlings of course).

Fight!

Grazings

Do we have rights to the common grazings? Yes and no. The Crofters Commission assure us that by their records we do - but the Clerk of one of the grazings insists that we don't for reasons that really are too complicated to explain. But it's a pain in the proverbial.

Grant schemes.

Do we have rights to get support from any of the many government and eu funding schemes designed to support marginal farmers? Wellllllll, yes. And no. And the no relates to goats. Goats, who are supremely adapted to marginal land are exempt from support from Less Favoured Areas Support Scheme - in fact the only thing eligible for support under LFASS are (oooh now can you guess?) sheep and cattle - and only if they're raised for meat. So on the one hand Govt is promoting rural diversification and local food strategies and on the other supporting farmers who diversify - as long as it is into sheep and cattle - or out of agriculture into tourism...Pah! Anyway Jussi is drafting letters to MPs MEPs MSPs and any and every other kind of pee she can think of.

Jobs.

The great problem with applying for jobs is that you get offers of job interviews in the middle of applying for other, quite different jobs. So your head ends up being split between thinking about how absolutely perfect you are for two opposing sets of tasks. Too much for my liddle ol brain I can tell ya!

...and the winner is...

OK - so it wasn't blight. Merely frost damage. Thank you everyone who commented, fb'd and emailed. As reward for all your efforts here are some goat piccies - and look - it is sunny. And Warm. I was going to bore you all with piccies of seedlings but we had a visitor with a camera and she was far more interested in the goats for some reason - these are her snaps.

It's starting to feel like summer. Phew.

Distraught

This! Look! Look at this! Soddit! For all the world this looks like blight. I mean how the F?!? It's only just stopped snowing. Soddit!

These are earlies, grown in pots by the side of the cottage - clearly I've created a superb little micro-climate. Soddit.

But where has the infection come from? The most likely source (if it wasn't the tubers - and it shouldn't have been really) is dot dot dot ... the compost they are in. And guess what? That compost is now all over the garden. Buggarit. Soddit.

Soddit. Soddit.Soddit. Soddit.Soddit. Soddit.Soddit. Soddit.Soddit. Soddit.

I've cut the infected bits off and burnt them under the light of the moon dancing naked and squealing nibbling on funny looking mushrooms with antlers on my head and with my navel full of the still beating hearts of earthworms.

BuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggaritBuggarit

Our first egg

Wow! Look! Them there chickens are starting to do their stuff.

This excellent egg was fed to the delighted Girl for breakfast - we are looking forward to more.

Apart from eggs - chickens are a joy. Ours run up to you making their little cooing sounds and follow you around, for all the world looking as though they are interested in what you are doing - so interested in fact that they get in the way. If you are sawing wood you have to keep checking yourself so as not to inadvertently take the head off a chicken that's come to see what you're doing. I love to just stand and watch and listen to them as they do their little scratching dance.

A delight!

Twattle and Twottle

For some of us there's something deeply irritating about the self-assured strut of the public schoolboy. They ooze a confidence that seems to be beyond their exposure to and understanding of Real Life. And now we have two Chums standing in the garden of 10 Downing Street full of smug self-confidence in their newly created jolly what-ho vision of the future. Deeply irritating. And yet for me, unwelcomely welcome. And I almost allow myself to hope.

The trouble is - I cannot imagine that they'll be able to survive when they find themselves wiping the brown stuff from their faces when it hits the fan. They are ideologists, and their ideology and vision will serve them well in the face of adversity. But somehow I doubt their life-experiences will have them anything like prepared for the battering they'll inevitably encounter. Even so - I wish them well - I'd far rather have naive idealism than cynical manipulation.

My impression so far is that Cameron towers Clegg in intellectual ability. On the Downing Street lawn Clegg was want to wave his arms about in over-excited wetting-himselfness whereas Cameron actually looked like there was something going on behind that silver-spooned tongue. Clegg couldn't believe he was there whilst Cameron clearly knew it was absolutely right that he was there - The Prime Minister, the realisation of his Etonian dreams.

Apart from the testing times they have ahead, at some point they are going to have to face up to the fact that they don't have anything like the power they imagine they do. Do they really think that in this day and age any Government has the power, or wherewithal of any sort to deliver the sort of changes in society they glibly pronounce they intend to deliver? Pah! Ideologists! And even worse - Public School Boy Ideologists!

Still - as a self-confessed ideologist myself - I can't resist a sneaking respect for Cameron and I'm considerably more content with the prospect of him as a prime minister than I ever thought I would be. But will those utopian goggles survive the big brown fan? I doubt it.

Colours

On Sunday I rejoiced at the warmth and the fact that I'd managed to spend Saturday au jardin planting seeds in anticipation of more fresh summer veg.

Yesterday I drove to Thurso in a snow storm.

This morning I drove the girl to school in a snow storm.

Humph.

Those poor goats! We had two new arrivals yesterday afternoon, both female and both doing fine. The mother remains nameless for reasons regular (and very patient) readers will understand. One of the kids is an attention grabber whilst the other is camera shy.

I am hugely enjoying the election mayhem. What will the outcome be? Oooooooooh.

Ahhemm

...because someone asked me to...

Fog

Today it is foggy. Fog is such a rare thing up here I felt I must run to the hills to tell you all about it.

Yesterday there were swallows swooping around the cottage. Today there are sky larks tweeting madly out on the common. Two sure signs of summer. If only spring had arrived.

And then there's this election thing tomorrow. I mean really, what am I to do. Jussi, who is not allowed to vote in this election - cos we don't want foreigners telling us how to run the country eh? - keeps asking me how I'm going to vote - and do you know? - I haven't got a clue.

Once upon a time I'd have voted labour - virtually without second thought. But a gradual disillusionment with their loss of values and purpose culminating in the invasion of Iraq has ruled them out. I may vote labour again one day, but those responsible for the war will need to be long gone before I do.

My default position for many years has been Green. I don't agree with all their policies but they place the number one issue as the key driver for all policies. But in this mega safe lib dem seat they aren't putting up a candidate. Doubtless to save themselves some money.

I couldn't vote Conservative. I mean just couldn't. I was in the industrial north of England in the early '80s. They can't be forgiven for what they did - and I was in Scotland in the late '80s - and they can't be forgiven for what they did then either. There are still people kicking around in the party hierarchy who were part of all that stuff and despite all the gloss and focus-group blandness they (and all the main parties) project - I just don't believe they've changed.

Lib Dems are OK in a sort of supermarket muzak sort of way. Harmless enough, gently progressive-ish in places but I can't help feeling that they lack substance. Nick Clegg doesn't at all strike me as any kind of leader and hasn't managed to say anything substantial for weeks. But I do enjoy their slogan "Change that works" . He's fond of standing in front of banners with his head obscuring 'that'. Changeworks. There's a good name. I mean I'm reasonably content that Lib Dems will win this seat whatever I do - but I can't really bring myself to vote for them.

The SNP message that a strong Scottish voice in Westminster will protect Scottish interests is a convincing one - albeit a little selfish perhaps. But I couldn't vote for them. I distrust nationalism of any kind and I deeply distrust Alex Salmond who is a smarmy egotist who seems to be willing to say anything as long as he thinks it will be popular. Such populism smacks of false clothing - who knows what he is really wearing underneath?

We have an independent standing. But he is just plain mad.

So what sort of choice is that? I think maybe a spoilt paper is in order. Spoiling the paper is far better than not voting at all - which is just lazy - and spoiling the paper makes some kind of statement about lack of choice and discontent with the system. It can be interpreted in other ways of course. Which is a bit of a problem.

Fog.

Bedoign

You know it's Spring when the garden becomes littered with various bits of half eaten baby rabbit.

Or when you start eating things out of the veg patch - like last night we had a plateful of delicious purple sprouting broccoli, with a the-jury's-definitely-out-on-this-one accompaniment of ground elder fried with onions and garlic followed by the most wondrous rhubarb crumble. Splendid.

"I may be sometime"

Just as Match of the Day was starting on Saturday night, Jussi uttered these immortal words. Around about 3 am - with me tucked up securely in bed, Jussi returned with the news that two new kids had joined our throng. Proud mother is Gwendolyn. There's one male, one female kid. The colourful photo-friendly one is the male, and being of British Alpine stock will need a myths and legends name beginning with "S". The reticent female with the enigmatic smile looks like she'll be called Selkie.

And then on Sunday morning after a long hard session of ooooing and aaaaing The Girl took a rest - proving that if you're well wrapped, and the wind has dropped, and the sun is out, it gets warm up here, sort of.

Nematodal belief systems and biological knowledge deficits

Biology has been unable to explain something that gardeners have long understood. That is, that in the dark worms travel at the speed of light. So ashamed are biologists of this lack of understanding that they remain absolutely silent on the issue and will even deny the truth of it. And yet astronomers know something is going on - which is why they named worm holes worm holes. Worm holes provide a short cut across space and time and are named in recognition of the amazing speed a worm can travel.

Their enthusiasm boils down to their religion in which worms who die by the spade are guaranteed eternal life zooping about with gay abandon from worm hole to worm hole. So when they hear a spade strike the soil they all rush madly to get under it. This is why you can't dig a hole without splicing worms.

Tonight there will be a huge celebration in my veg garden. Worms from all over the world (after all they can travel at the speed of light) will congregate to celebrate the uncountable number of ex worms now in wormvana following my tattie planting. To celebrate they will have ritualistic duels with mice, which they will round up from miles around. These duels take a form similar to bull fighting, only instead of a red cloth they use green pea shoots. The devastation to my newly germinated darlings will be evident in the morning.

Planting mnemonic (2)

Cara always had a Desiree to sail up the Blue Danube.

And planted into the worst prepared bed ever seen. I mean the walls of the trenches are thick matted masses of ground elder. So much for no dig gardening.

Democracy

Ah - you see I cannae keep quiet about the election all the time. Interesting pantomime it's turning out to be though. I'll be voting - I feel it's a duty - though in my case, according to this, my vote is only actually worth 6/100ths of a vote. Encouraging eh? What's your vote worth?