Anticipation

Yesterday, probably about the time that Town Mouse was out taking these superb piccies, I was out in Thurso getting thoroughly soaked. It rained proper bouncing off the pavement rain, making little miserable me mope twixt shop and emergency crap coffee in a cafe.

But this morning was glorious. Still, sunny and just a wee bit cold. If I'd had my camera when I went up to get the girls carrot* I could have captured some wonderful rising sun glinting off hills type piccies. Well I could have tried anyway.

After morning coffee, with freshly charged batteries camera and I went for a walk.

Look a cat.

Some of you may remember this. Yesterday, before I got soaked in Thurso, I wandered around with flat batteries and counted 14 thriving young willows

- pretty good I reckon - and I found nothing like 46 dead willow sticks so there may be other living willows, but I've forgotten where I planted them. Maybe.

I forget to take piccies of the Scots Pine.

But a couple of them are limping on, a couple are distinctly dead-looking. The limping ones are

in soaked soil in an exposed place

(but we've had a dry summer) and the dead ones in a shaded spot in dry soil (but close to a rhodie - I didn't have the heart to dig it out - I mean it flowered in Spring and was such a delight of colour - it's possible the young and tender Scots Pines found the soil a bit toxic).

We have lots of fennel, but despite lots of good foliage, the bulb - the bit I was growing it for - is disappointing. Maybe I should have put more effort into earthing up.

They all have good carrot-like roots but I suspect this part isn't considered edible and trying to find an answer to whether or not the root is edible is confounded in google by lots of people referring to the bulb as roots. Silly people.

Meanwhile - we await in great anticipation for the apple harvest.

This single apple - Stirling Castle - is the only fruit we'll get from the 'orchard' this year - but still infinitely more than we expected. It's a cooker - and I worry how I can cook a apple for three and ensure the taste of the apple wins against anything else I put in to make the dish big enough for three.

But when should I harvest it? It is still firmly attached to tree but I'm starting to feel greedy by leaving it on the tree. I check it daily. It's time is soon.

Maybe tonight.

The other great point of anticipation is the weather - forecast 60 mph+ gusts tonight. Not quite as bad as 96 kph but still scary enough.

And we'll be eating fennel tonight - cos apparently it's good for wind.

* I go up to the garden to get a carrot for her pack lunch most mornings

Sunrise 0720, Sunset 1851

The plan this morning was to post a few piccies - but the camera is out of batteries, so while they are recharging here's a word on routines. And a random goat piccy from the archives to brighten up your day.

Jussi gets up at 5:30, breakfasts, brings me a cuppa around 6 and goes off to do the goats. Generally I doze until around 7:30 when I get up and start rousing Ailsa for school.

At 5:30 in the morning it is dark.

Our evening meal is around 6pm. Jussi and Ailsa go up to do the goats at 6:30, Ailsa returns about 7:45, and Jussi about 8:30pm. At 8:30 in the evening it is dark.

This morning was a little unusual. I woke up around 5, and so I got up soon after Jussi and made myself a cuppa and came back to bed to ....... wait for it ...... work!

Work at the moment means contributing to a report discussing aspects of a couple of projects funded by the Ashden Awards. It's interesting work and I quite like the fact that people associated with Ashden are occasional readers of this blog - and I still get the odd hit from the mention they've made of me in their blog. Which is nice.

A little after 7:30 went to wake Ailsa. I opened her bedroom door and ...... the bed was empty. There was a heap of bedclothes on the floor and no Ailsa. Momentary Panic. I mean in this house you always know where people are. You hear them moving around. I'd been awake since 5 and not heard a sound from Ailsa. How was it she was not in her bed?

Racing brain quickly reviewed the options: Had she got up early and gone to do the goats? - No, I would have heard. Had she sneaked downstairs to watch tv? No surely I would have heard. Was she on the loo? No. Aaaargh!

Then I noticed a small foot poking out from under the bedclothes. Ahhh. She had fallen out of the bed during the night, somehow managed to stay asleep in a jumbled heap beside the bed. How cute is that?

Routines will change shortly. After much heart-searching Jussi and Ailsa are soon to go off to Hamburg for about 10 months - I mean days. I reckon it'll feel like months. This means that I will have to do all the goat work. Omagod.

Return of the idyll

That last post was a bit gloomy eh? Truth is though, sometimes it's better to express those bad feelings rather than sit on them and let them fester. The wind died hours after that post - to be replaced - for one morning only - by Summer. Big Summer Blast. Blue skies, blazing heat. Wonderful.

By afternoon it was raining. After only two and a half days it has now stopped raining - though it is still a bit misty. The English language is surprisingly lacking in words for rain. Rain has many guises. The rain here is most often mist-like. Usually it's driving mist which can be very wetting but can also be very refreshing. For the last couple of days we've had torrential mist - very wet, very heavy but also very fine, and quite silent. And an awful lot of it.

Last night I popped outside to check that it was still raining - and indeedy it was. And the scene by our cottage door was of a hedgehog eating the cat food. One cat eating a rabbit, and the other cat torn between jealously watching the hedgehog and jealously watching her daughter devour rabbit. I mean, I ask you, on a scale of 10, how high does that score for blissful ruralism?

Meanwhile I'm trying to knock out a tender for the building works on the house. I'd drafted it and asked a pal in the trade to comment on it. He didn't exactly tear it to shreds - but after I've absorbed all his comments it will look very different from my first draft - and a good few acres of trees longer to boot.

But I'm also working (shock horror) - got a bit of consultancy work and this needs to take precedence. And I've got a brew to be bottled, an accountant to see this week (hopefully) and still the behemoth of the grant application for our empire building to complete. Hey ho. Onwards onwards.

The wiiiiiiind! The wiiiiind.

A few days ago I complained about the wind - and the impending doom of winter. It's been windy ever since. I've been watching weather forecasters say how nice the autumn weather is here and there - no mention of our winds.

Windy it is. And yet not. The weather maps show winds gusting to 15 to 20 miles per hour. Which is windy. And yet not. Last winter we regularly had winds gusting to 40, 50 mph, and on a couple of occasions at least 60 to 80 mph. Therefore it is not windy. I don't care what you tell me about being blown over picking the runner beans, or scooping various items of garden furniture from the common - and the washing of course - it is not windy.

We had lots of visitors over the summer - and they asked us how we survived last winter. And we told them. It was fine - we survived - it was fun - we expected it to be bad - and it was - but it was fine - we just wrapped up and survived. All this is true - and in the summer heat it all seemed so - well academic really. But now - after days of not windy really - the thought of winter, and the thought of real wind, is beginning to scrape away on the insides of my rib cage - not nice I promise!

The thought of winter, the spectre of winter really is starting to get to me. People have told us that it is the second winter that finishes off the good lifers, the neo, proto and quasi hippies. The second winter does 'em in. They pack up and beat a hasty retreat to softer climes as soon as they emerge from their winter pits after the second winter.

After last winter (our first) - I thought - well fine - it was a bad winter, it was a windy winter, it was a cold winter - if that's as bad as it gets we'll be fine. But this looming fear of a winter that hasn't even started yet is taking me by surprise. Looming doom gloom.

Will the second winter be the end of our aspirations for life in the Highlands?

A bit of politics

The whole Obama change thing - he promised health reform, peace in the middle east, action on climate change. USA leading the world.

But he's failing on all fronts. China upstaged him at the UN yesterday, Israel has refused to enter talks with Palestine - insisting that the current talks are talks about talks rather than talks - a sleight to Obama's authority, and the whole health care thing is a mess. It suits me to have a visionary leftish US leader, but he's starting to look weak and ineffective.

Meanwhile the Danes have suggested that the Copehagen Summit in December might not reach any agreement to supercede the Kyoto Protocol, a sentiment no doubt influenced by our current economic turmoil as well as the apparent inability of the US to sign up to anything - Obama's charisma doesn't extend to promising US citizens any infringement of their 'right' to create 19 tonnes of CO2 per head per annum (cf China - less than 5 tonnes).

The US administration is very different under Obama - the whole renewable energy thing is progressing very well - the USA has changed a great deal in a very short time - but world leading? I don't think so.

Maybe we have to shift our focus and cast our hopes onto China. Unencumbered with democracy, the Chinese government has the power, and as a nation they have the economic might to really shake things up. Can they do it? Yes they can. Though I suspect they'll exact a high price for their reforms. They are recent victors of economic wars, in their view the climate is stuffed because of things we've done - and they'll make us pay retribution. Perhaps rightly.

And actually, I think we have to hope they will. China is a strange bed fellow for us lilly livered pinko liberals - sympathisers of Tibet (and all the other ethnic groups getting crushed in China), objectors to huge dam projects, the proliferation of coal power stations and all the rest. But I think I'm pinning my hopes on China to lead the world in Copenhagen in December.

I'm a little queasy about this. But I don't care really. Copenhagen is our last chance to save life on our planet as we know it - and maybe China is our last realistic hope of achieving anything there.

Windy returns

Inverness rocks! It was all good - the charity shops, the other shops, the pub (Castle Tavern) the tapas bar near the castle and the shower in the hotel. We returned via the (no show) dolphins in Fortrose and the Nigg Ferry - and the excitement of the traffic lights in Lairg.

D&D had looked after the goats just fine and it was all good.

We've returned to wind, wind and more wind. It's a warm wind. But at the end of the day wind is wind eh? It sounds a lot worse, sitting inside, than it actually is when you get out there. It feels slightly foreboding. It's only September. It's gonna get a whole lot worse.

For now though, the garden is spewing veg, the goats are happy and all is good.

FBDO and FBNO!! **

Tomorrow we have goat sitters. Jussi will milk in the morning and then we'll head off leaving the goats in the capable hands of D&D.

We will go to Inverness and visit shops. This, coupled with all the traffic and the people and the noise and the smells will be a bit of a shock. We will eat in a restaurant - food cooked by someone else! We will stay in a hotel. It will be warm. We will drink in a pub and there will be more people, people who have no recollection of cave dwelling. We will breakfast in the hotel - eat vastly more than is necessary, visit more shops and drive back, stopping every 2 miles or so when Ailsa gets car sick. It will be an adventure. A swan song before the hatches get bolted and we hunker down for Autumn storms and winter toe dropping-off-with-the-cold.

Wow. Really not sure how I'll cope with all the thrills. Will Jussi be able to relax so far away from the goats? Will Ailsa be able to survive not seeing the first episode of the restart of Merlin? Will my veg be OK?

Tonight I'm cooking pasties for D&D - all veg from the garden. There'll be onions and garlic and parsnips and carrots and chard in the pasties and we'll eat them with THE CAULIFLOWER and maybe broad beans - if only I'd thought ahead could have used goat meat in the pasties.

But just now I can't think straight - the anticipation of a day out is killing!

**FBDO and FBNO - Fruit Bat Day Out, Fruit Bat Night Out. Don't ask! -

"Oh those yellow bats of Texas

They are not really bats

They're only imitation

And they wear yellow hats

You can tell they're phoney

Cos when they're on the wing

They make all the noises

They dance and shout and sing

eh eh eh eh eh eh eh

eh eh eh eh eh eh

eh eh eh eh eh eh eh

eh eh eh eh eh eh

eh eh eh eh eh eh

eh eh eh eh eh eh

eh eh eh eh eh eh eh

eh eh eh eh eh eh"

How many cauliflowers does it take to feed three people?

Last night the answer was three - and even then they had to be supplemented with carrots and lots of mashed potato. The cauliflowers are very tasty but extremely small. Out of the ten or so plants I've had only one looks as though its going to get anywhere near what you might consider cauliflower sized.

But why? They were all planted at the same time, in the same bed, with the same spacing, and they've all been subjected to the same watering regime, feeding regime, caterpillarpickingoff regime, slugpickingoff regime, weed control, et cetera. Why does one cauliflower decide that it will invest in a good canopy of leaves and therefore have the energy produce a decent enough head while the others just faff about looking pathetic?

And does the success of one cauliflower mean that I should invest the time and energy and try them again next year, or does the pathetic eau de cauliflower meals we've had from the other nine mean that I should abandon any fantasies of cauliflower cheese forever and ever. Amen?

Friday night 18

I suspect you'll find it hard to believe, but Jussi and I have not had a night in the pub, or a night out anywhere for that matter, since February. That's a hell of a long time to go without a night out. There are lots of reasons for this, but it mainly comes down to the arrival of the kids and the constant overhead of feeding and milking.

Friday night 18 was actually a Saturday and was relatively uneventful. It was bingo night so half of the revellers disappeared into a back room for much of the evening. (To play bingo silly!). The remaining half dozen or so punters took it in turns to ask us if we were enjoying our holiday. This was quite depressing really - I mean we know them by name, but after a few drams and bevvies we instantly become tourists. Maybe it's a feature of rural life - if you're not a face that has been around all their lives the jigsaw pieces of face recognition aren't sufficiently hard-carved to survive a thorough alcohol wash**. But things were jolly enough after we'd explained who we were, where we were living, what we were doing, where we were from and the name of that shopping centre in Hull that is by the water and they'd apologised profusely. Some even asked for cheese - even a sober one!

Massively enjoyable in a get away from the house sort of way. And we'll get a night out next week too. Not sure if I can cope with this level of excitement.

**And yet I suspect they could still identify their sheep.

090909

Last night, on the BBC news, this date was described as a palindrome. It is not. 90909 is a palindrome but who gives the zero to the month if they're not giving it to the day? But I'm not about to get the green ink out. Bah humbug.

Saturday was mainly wet and horrid. I've spent some time trying to upload a video to entertain you on your horrid days but YouTube is giving me jip and now the weather has improved I've given up.

Yesterday a man from the ministry came out and measured our fields. Apparently they are smaller than they were when he measured them a few months ago. Every year we have to fill in a form saying how big our fields are as part of claiming a grant to help po' marginal farmers like us. We don't get the grant ever - because no one applied for a grant in 2006. Makes sense huh? But we still have to complete the grant form because eventually they'll shift the base line year and if we haven't applied for a grant in the base line year, irrespective of whether or not we get a grant in the new base line year, we'll not get a grant. I hope you're following all this.

Honestly - it's enough to drive you to sheep farming. Crofters who keep sheep are fond of telling you how busy they are. I've often wondered what keeps them so busy - as actually you don't see them out all that often (usually at odd times at the weekend). I now realise that they are busy filling in forms.

Fare dos

Yesterday I mentioned that I went to a meeting on Sunday. The meeting on Sunday was in Eddrachillis, a detail I mention because I like the name. It's about two hours drive from here. The meeting lasted about two hours and decided little, but we all felt better afterwards.

The highlight of these meetings is the lunch. Clearly aware of the distances people travel to attend, the lunches have become a ritual whereby everyone contributes. The only rule is that all offerings must be home made and preferably home grown to boot. So on Sunday we had beetroot soup and marrow soup with bread, and goats cheese. There was also marrow chutney, gooseberry jam and rhubarb jam, all of which complemented the cheese very nicely, and afterwards we all had fresh apples. All homegrown/home made.

And then the two hour journey home. We lift share of course, so the journeys are jolly enough with much swapping of gossip and scandal - most of it, I imagine, grossly exaggerated.

I arrived home in time to dash up to the garden and pick a selection of broad beans and runner beans to lightly steam for tea. The veg plot has been providing nearly all our veg needs for a good few weeks now, and by jimmeny it's been grand!

At the moment we have plenty* of broad beans. I've always resented buying fresh broad beans cos you buy more pods than beans, but I love them and will never tire of them and I am hugely enjoying the luxury of having broad beans every other day. In between we're getting peas, runner beans, cauliflower, cabbage and the odd courgette and lots of parsely, and onions and carrots.

The next meeting, in October, will be in Skerray. Much closer to home. I'm wondering about goats cheese and broad bean jam. What do you think?

*Millions and millions and millions and millions

La raccolta della patata

I've been reading. I go through phases, reading and not reading. Just now it fits with the schedule - Jussi awakens me in the morning with a cuppa before she goes to the goats and I have half an hour to read before getting up and getting Ailsa up and ready for school.

By chance, the last two books I've read were based in Italy. And it has unbalanced me - my senses seem to be yearning for the scent of carob, the whine of moped and the crunch of sunflower husks under foot. And the light! And the heat - that almost lightly grilled lamb scent of skin in hot sun. Mama Mia!

Instead I've been in wind and rain, or when they relent, midges, digging up the tatties.

And here is the harvest. Not as much as I hoped - even allowing for the fact that much had already been harvested as black leg threatened - but not bad - and I'm quite pleased. I've dug them up early - they'd died back too quickly and I suspected blight so best to lift them asap - and indeed there were a few distinctly mushy ones. I'm hoping that with the obviously infected ones removed, these will last long enough for us to eat them - if the harvest had been more prolific I would have doubted our chances.

But there is so much to do - and so many interruptions, delightful and otherwise. I was at a meeting on Sunday and someone used the phrase 'time management' - the first time I heard that for 18 months or so - and it echoed inside like the jangling chains of a ghoul. Oh yes - time management - prioritise what you have to do and do things at the top of the list. Stop fannying about, stop faffing around and hiding in the things that are easy or heaven forbid, enjoyable and do the stuff that needs to be done.

È tempo di vedere un uomo riguardo ad un cane!**

**Hopefully, there is someone out there whose translation skills are better than Babelfish. This isn't quite what I meant!

Unwelcome back scratching

So those of you lucky enough to be going to the Wigtown Book Festival could do worse than to look in on this. Go Tadg!

I spent most of the 1980's living in that part of the world working here. Then, both Wigtown and Whithorn were scarcely places anyone but lovers of rural decay would want to visit. But things are very different now. Go check em out.

Sunrise 0635 Sunset 2029

Aye tis fair drawing in.

Windy and wet. Fire is lit. Summer has ended.

In between trying to progress a grant application for empire building on the croft, trying to think about writing a tender for the house renovations, trying to stay on top of the garden and all the other stuff, I've been applying for a job.

It's one of those dream jobs - decent enough day rate paid for a few days a year of brain stretching work away from the croft. So far the application process has been on-line. Firstly there was an on-line application form which, like application forms the world over, did not ask the right questions. Anyway I seem to have passed that bit, and was then invited to take an on-line verbal reasoning test, which I've just completed, and I have to say was pretty challenging. It consisted of a series of paragraphs often written in fairly convoluted English, followed by statements which, based only on the text, you had to mark as True, False or Cannot Say. Sounds simple but I promise it was not! I'll not hear whether or not I've done enough to be invited to interview until late September. Fingers crossed.

Cohabitation

This might look like a picture of a poorly constructed raised bed to you, but to me it is a shot of my compost heaps. There are two heaps here - on the right is this years compost, and on the left is last years, covered with straw, maturing nicely for use next year. But hey - what's that if it isn't a magnificent stand of tatties growing through last years compost. Methinks me compost isn't working properly if all it can do is propagate potatoes - but they do look rather healthy - much better than this lot which are all rather yellowed. I had a good look at these yesterday and apart from hosting a few slugs they look pretty healthy - apart from being yellow that is, and my diagnosis is malnutrition so I think I'll throw some semi-rotted manure over them. That'll learn 'em.

But my compost potatoes look great - but I've no idea what variety they are - I mean when should I harvest?

And strange things are happening to my greyhound cabbage (no piccies of the cabbage - I know you'll be disappointed) - apart from the cabbage white caterpillars and the slugs, my cabbages seem to be harbouring worms. Cabbage worms? What? And another thing - my cabbages are always tasty and all - but shop bought cabbage always seems to taste of cabbage - my cabbage tastes of cabbage a bit, but mainly of soil. Why is that?

And over on the broad beans we have a new visitor, which, as far as I can tell is knot grass moth caterpillar. Which is nice. These broad beans are finishing so I'm happy to leave 'em.

According to some web sites knot grass moths are generally rare or infrequent in Scotland - so I guess it's a testament to the magnificent summer we've had that they are here, or maybe it's global warming, or maybe it's all one in the same anyway.

Identity crisis

Thruckbird? Blackbrush? Or just an adolescent blackbird? Like Phil the hedgehog, blackbirds love the cat food. This one was on alert and flew off as soon as I'd snapped this piccy. A wee wren was less fortunate this morning. It's good to have cats - they're getting few a good number of rabbits and mice, but wrens? Oh dear.

Talking of hunting - here are the results of the last fishing expedition. Fishing is dangerous business - and coastal fishing especially so - this catch was taken on Monday evening - the tide was pounding in and Ailsa and I both got soaked.

Getting wet is fine - but it's the fear of the freak big wave sweeping us off the rocks that bugs me and I think I'm going to pay more attention to tide tables and will check not just the time of the tide but also it's predicted height. And maybe I'll stuff Ailsa into a life jacket for good measure. But of course, like cycling helmets, the danger of safety equipment is it can give you false confidence.

Pollock again - very tasty.

A brief interlude (PLEASE!)

I'm not blogging much at the moment cos I'm focussed on desk work - and really there is nothing funny or interesting about that. Tying myself to the desk has coincided with rotten rainy weather - which is a good thing cos desk work seems to be impossible when the sun is out. But cold toes have returned (not as bad as this) , but a harbinger of winter perhaps. Oh my god - NO! Not yet PLEASE!

So, although the cr*p weather is good cos I'm getting things progressed that I should have done months ago - we are hoping for a return of summer soon.

Anonymous benefactor

Meet Phil. I guess a bit of cat food is a fair exchange for a bucket of peas. But apart from peas, Phil (The Hedgehog - the note with the peas said - Will return for bucket-Phil - a bit of a giveaway really) - where was I? Oh yes. Apart from peas, Phil also does a good job eating the remains of all the moles, rabbits, rare birds, voles and mice that the cats are wont to catch and leave in the middle of the path as a squelchy treat for wanderers in darkness.

Excuse my French

POLLOCKS!

It took Ailsa and I less than an hour to catch these beauties. We rushed home and Jussi cooked 'em. And eeh bah gum I aint never tasted nowt better. A completely home grown meal - tatties, peas (well OK the peas were from the hedgehog) parsley and the freshest fish ever. Grand!

Political ambitions

There are lots of reasons why I could never be a politician. Top of the list is democracy - I mean who would vote for me? Especially with my autistic tendencies and penchant for making jokes out of everything, and preferably a joke that strains the listeners sensibility - wouldn't look good on Newsnight. Another reason is that I like to paint pictures to illustrate the point I'm trying to make but don't always think through the metaphor - that listeners might hear something different from the message I'm trying to paint.

For example I was at a Climate Change conference a couple of years ago being addressed by a new Scottish Minister responsible for climate change who was labouring the need for due process, a bill, a consultation process, reflection, a further consultation process, a parliamentary debate before becoming an Act. Frustrated by what I saw as complacency I took to the floor and said that climate change was far more urgent than that, that we are in a crisis and action needs to be taken now. Imagine, I said, that an invading army was marching up the M6 - would the Scottish Government undertake a consultation process or get on and do something? Of course the Scottish Nationalist Ministers head was now filled with ENGLISH invaders - not of the urgency of climate change - and the minister rather irritatingly dismissed the question with some quip.

Last night Newsnight was filled with footage taken from WWII propaganda films trying to get people to dig up golf courses and plant spuds for the war effort in a piece on food security in the light of climate change. Thus my use of the war analogy feels vindicated, but not obviously, of the use of the M6.

So will we get agreement in December for a global 40% cut in C02 levels by 2020? No chance if you ask me. Complacent and deaf to the marching of boots and the rumbling of tanks.

Back to real issues - today has been eternal drizzle interspersed by occasional showers. It feels like the end of summer. Jussi has spent most of the day making cheese and I've been curled up with a book. Thoroughly enjoyed the day - but rather hoping that summer returns soon.

Kicking the hedgehog

... ought to be a euphemism - but I'm not sure what for. "Sorry guys - not coming out tonight I'll be kicking the hedgehog".

Last night I kicked the hedgehog. I didn't mean to, it was dark. I managed to get a light onto it before it scurried off - HUGE! - I mean small football size - but unfortunately the camera wasn't to hand.

And then this morning we find this on the doorstep. Are the two related? Does kicking the hedgehog bring 'random' peas? Does anyone know of ancient folklore relating to hedgehog abuse?

So if you chance upon a hedgehog lugging a blue bucket about, please thank it for me.

Gone fishing

We scrambled over the rocks with spuming sea etc.

Actually it was quite calm. Ailsa doubted the chances of our success on account of it being a Sunday morning and according to her, everyone has a lie in on a Sunday morning - even fish. It turned out she was right. We never got a single nibble. Still it was four hours being together in the sun and rain by the sea. We'll be back.

Magnetic north

More visitors expected today, or tomorrow, from Dunbar. Hectic and great fun. I'll be able to look back at this during the long lonely winter and remind myself what it is to speak to people. Winter conversations with sheep and dead parsnips can be surprisingly stimulating and considerably more unpredictable than your average day to day, but ultimately unsatisfying.

Meanwhile, I opened a book this morning. The first lines of books are supposed to be crucial - they are supposed to be enticing so the reader launches into the rest of the book. This one started:

"A Turkish heavyweight boxing champion sauntering down a Hamburg street with his mother on his arm can scarcely be blamed for failing to notice that he is being shadowed by a skinny boy in a black coat."

I reckon this must be one of the best first lines I've ever read. So good in fact that I had to read it a few times, put the book down to reflect upon it, and fall back to sleep. The Germans liked my beer - there's no greater compliment than a German liking your home brew.

Die Deutschen sprechen Deutsches

No time to tell you about the man selling chainsaws - we're busy with visitors - nice visitors of course! Malcolm would be very disappointed with me.

Die Deutschen mögen Würste und haggis.

I accept no responsibility for the quality of translation - it's all done through babelfish.

Warum sind so viele Deutschen Ingenieure? Ich bedeute wirklich.

Chaos

Ah gawd - can't cope! Tomorrow we've got a man coming to repair the cooker, a woman coming to buy some kids AND more visitors from Dunbar (Isabel and Dave) and then the next day we've got visitors from Germany. Piccadilly bloody circus mate.

Might have to have a beer or two.

Right up there

There aint nothing, but nothing, quite so wonderful as wandering down from the garden with a basket full of fresh picked home grown veg, grabbing a litre of home brewed summer ale out the fridge and settling down in the garden in your home made chair for a couple of hours of shelling peas and beans, picking over parsley and scraping fresh dug spuds.

It's the good life alright.

Malcolm and Helen

Often unaided, always with very little encouragement, and always with maximum enthusiasm, Malcolm and Helen's visit was characteristically characterised by a fairly uncoordinated but characterful and highly effective attack on three jobs that we needed doing. Firstly was this, secondly a guinea pig run for Salt and Ginger (and the wee girl obviously - but you'll be pleased to note that despite the bed clothes she hasn't taken to sleeping out there - yet), and thirdly a frame for a chicken house.

I decided that we needed to buy new blocks for the lean-to, as many of the blocks from the Nissen hut are a bit crumbly - I'll use those for paths and stuff in the veg patch next Spring.

The challenge now is to have made some further progress on 1 and 3 before Malcolm and Helen visit again... which hopefully will be sooner than you think.

One day, dad, he'll be proud

Rounders

Flushed with the rosy glow of success we had a game of rounders. Rounders is a team game of course, but I won so there.

Whisky drinking prize

So when the adults stay up too late drinking too much and stay in bed too long the next morning (except Jussi and Helen who got up to do the goats and then went back to bed). The children awake and decide that, as there's no one to tell them not to, they'll watch The Lord of the Rings - all three million hours of it, before breakfast.

Eventually people get up, everyone gets fed and we head off to the local beach for the sandcastle building competition. The kids, still reeling from Orcs and Elves, decide to build Gondor, and Helms Deep and Rivondell and a hobbit house and a hole for Gollum. Then the castles get joined by roads and rivers and Helms Deep becomes Mount Doom and it all looks rather splendid. When it's time to judge the sand castles the judge admits to being a lifelong Tolkien fan and the boys run around shouting "It's in the bag".

And Indeed it was - against stiff competition our complex of castles won the day. Spot the red rosette.

And while other teams had brought buckets and even shovels, we did almost all of it with our bare hands. Well done everybody!

Harvest

We're getting a particularly good crop of visitors this summer. I never found the time to tell of the delights of Tadg and Margaret's visit before Malcolm and Helen arrived, later joined by Graham and Fi.

Malcolm and Helen will get a post unto themselves, but for now here are a couple of shots of the impromptu campsite. Grown ups slept in the vans, the kids had the cottage with me and Jussi.