This morning I was wakened at quarter to six by the roar of silage cutters. It is all lies about the countryside being quiet. It is loud, it is lethally dangerous* and it is smelly. Cattle reek in hot weather, sheep are rank and the pungent stench of last season's silage would knock you on your back.
Taking washing to the line this morning I met Harry de Cat hurrying towards the house with a freshly killed rabbit in his jaws. On my return from work I found the half devoured and disembowelled corpse resting beside my verbenas. So Nellybert decided to have a barbecue.
Harry de Cat with his bellyful of rabbit
Swear to God we had sausages and chicken and a delicious green salad washed down with some cheap cider. Eat Harry's leftovers? I should think not. Maybe next month when I'm not spending any money we'll be sharing Harry's kills and eating Mag Pie.
*Consider Bert and his .22 missing the magpies and hitting God know's what.