I Wish Weekends Were 5 Days Long

Run darlings!

I have felt rather cranky this weekend. Mainly because I had around five days worth of stuff I wanted to do and only two days to do it in. I spent a little time with Zoe and that was good. I visited the bluebells in Top Wood twice, for the first time my camera battery died, and I failed to get even one decent photograph. I took pictures of Clint's new goslings and found them rather camera-shy.

I made a rhubarb and ginger crumble.

I watched about an hour of TV and Danny MacAskill's YouTube video another couple of times. It's at over two million views now and only 17 of those were mine!

I researched the history of the McAnespie family and discovered a new cousin. (Third. Matty said it doesn't count. I disagree.) Called on the aforesaid Matty and gathered up her genealogy cuttings. She told me a funny story but I'm saving it for a blog post. (The muse rarely visits me these days.) Delighted in my newly grown up Niece-Sha and went for several walks, none long enough. Fell out, then in with Pearlie. Listened to a great lot of Middlemarch.

Another thing that made me cranky this weekend was what Clint did to Johnny's wall. Philistine! A blog post there too and I can be as insulting as I like for he never reads me. Too busy rearing geese and being a Barbarian!

And I have been getting irritated by the varying quality of readings and recordings on LibriVox. When it is good it is a joy. When it is not I grind my teeth. Still, my own copy of the book will be here soon and I'll do what I did with Our Mutual Friend - use my eyes to feast on the unlistenable-to chapters.

Division of Labour Christmas Style

It's said that women do most of the preparation for Christmas and I'm sure that in many homes that is the case. Take our house - Bert won't go near a shop during the run up to Christmas unless it's to the garage to stock up on gas or dogfood. He wouldn't dream of buying anyone a present, much less wrap one. At a pinch he'll chop down a Christmas tree but he wouldn't have the first notion about decorating one. You might, if you're really persuasive, get him to go to the off licence to stock up on booze and he's pretty good with the Christmas meats. No fancy trimmings for him though. He'll cook a turkey to perfection, he'll carve it with skill but you can put it on your own damn plate yourself! What you want? He eats it for you?

But last night I had to concede that sometimes women get the better deal. I spent my evening baking citrus based Christmas desserts - a Lemon Mascarpone Cheesecake and an Orange and Almond Cake. Whilst so engaged, I chatted happily with some folks who'd dropped by to wish us Season's Greetings. Meanwhile Bert was down at Clint's plucking and drawing teens of turkeys and geese. The conversation was terse as Clint was still traumatised from the killing that had taken place a few nights before. He'd really loved those birds.

So I got to smell the sweet tang of sugar and citrus while Bert, poor man, had the reek of blood and guts in his nostrils. Sometimes it's good to be a woman.

A Tourist Attraction

You'd think they'd never seen pigs before. The amount of visitors we've had since the porkers came has increased dramatically. And Clint is practically living with us.

Those of you who know him will remember how he used to talk incessantly about potatoes. He knew every variety of spud grown in Europe. He was a blight expert, ploughing was his passion and soil an obsession.

Then there was eggs. He started of by hauling them around the country. Who knew the hazards attached to egg transportation? Then he got some, and so did we, but Clint wasn't content with a few ex-battery hens about the place. His craving for fowl grew...and grew. Turkeys were next, then geese. The local foxes were in fowl heaven.


Of course if you've got a lot of poultry you need a lot of sheds. It started with one. But one wasn't enough. Soon Clint's yard was thronged with sheds. You could hardly get through it.



Now it's pigs. Clint has no room for them at his own place just yet. Too many sheds in the way. So they're here in the meantime. Two for Clint, two for his mate and two for us. Where will it end?

The New Camera

I bought the Canon PowerShot A710 and so far I'm pleased with it. Zoe informs me that it comes highly recommended for the older user as it's design makes it easy for arthritic fingers to manage and it comes with an anti-shake function that evens out our palsy and tremors.

It's capacity to make mini-movies is far superior to my previous camera and I've already got some interesting footage of Clint and Lizzie discussing, in Ulster Scots and off-camera, the best way to rear goslings while the camera follows the fluffy goose babies.

Of course I'd like to share these. But how? They're a bit too long for YouTube. Any recommendations for editing tools?

A Sad Homecoming

Our friends, the Wee Manny's, have just got back from a short holiday in Brazil to hear the sad news that one of their dogs, Jock, was killed on the road last night. Jock was a great wee dog. Animals can be such a heartbreak.

And Clint has just lost a clocking goose and eight eggs. Fuck you Foxy. Why could it not have been you instead of Jock?