4am

I woke at silly o'clock today. I could have just laid there, warm and toasty, but my brain was awake too, listing things I could do quietly with the couple of hours before the household awoke: Read, make cheese scones ('oh, not enough cheese,') rewrite the white board diary in the kitchen, bake with the surplus eggs..... Write.

Downstairs the cats were surprised by me, they blinked in the light, stretching and rubbing up against me hoping it was time for an early breakfast. I busied myself trying to light the log burner, the only source of heat in the kitchen.

After several attempts at the fire I had to admit defeat. I just didn't have enough kindling. I listened and noted that the storms of yesterday had passed by so, donning my new, [well, hand-me-down, Jules Wellibobs donated by a lovely friend,] I firmly tied my dressing gown hitched up my thermals and went out gently into that good, dark night.

There was a stillness to the land, a pre-dawn calm. Even rooster, locked in his box, was quiet, most likely asleep. The stars littered the sky and the distant glow of the city, maybe 50 miles away, burnished the horizon.

It's not far to the log shed, out the front door and up the drive towards the stables. Pink was the first to hear me as she lay in the field over the hedge. I noted her soft needy tone. Alerted to my presence Snowy and Moon, bleated hellos too. I could picture them bedded down in the grass;. big sheep now, not the tiny lambs I raised by bottle.

'Morning girls' I whispered and they bleated again but I could tell they were still in their same positions, they knew it wasn't yet time to get up.

In the wood shed I shone my torch and selected a good box of kindling, prepared by hubby in early Autumn.

*

And now I'm by the crackling fire, talking to you. Tabby, the bigger cat has a cold and has crawled up to my lap for extra warmth. He sneezes occasionally and nips me on the hand as I type, just to remind me that he's here.

It's 5.10.

Last night the 10yo finished reading my children's book Nancy, Peggy and Susan. First Freedom. [Available at Amazon for Kindle Lulu for ebook download and Barnes and Nobel for Nook.] She'd asked me to read her the last chapter which was a privilege. There's a little twist in the ending and I'd wondered if it was obvious. It wasn't. As I began to build up to the secret she stopped me and excitedly described what she thought was going to happen. As I revealed the plot she squealed and demanded I hand over my Kindle, determined to read for herself. She was convinced I was making up words rather than reading them. She had been wrong and the twist had caught her out. It was exactly the reaction I was hoping for when I wrote the story some four years ago. Priceless. A moment I'll treasure.

Well I'm off to make tea and begin the process of re-reading my long abandoned novel.... a fictional version of The Archers at The Larches with the temporary title of The Perrys at The Berries. I think I put it aside in order to learn more about the land, animals and me as a writer, but now I suddenly feel compelled to finish.

Have a good day, I think I shall.

Award - Please vote for me.... I'm begging now!

Fabulously, I've been shortlisted for a Brilliance [aw shucks] in Blogging Award

There are 12 categories and I'm very honoured to be one of 20 blogs nominated in the Lit! Category, especially when you read the criteria for this group:

Lit!
Most blogs have writing at their core. But some blogs feature writing that makes it hard to stop reading. Whether a blog reads like a compelling bestseller or gorgeous poetry, this award celebrates the words on the page.

Wow-wee, what an accolade. I'm chuffed even to be nominated but to win.... sheesh!

Please, please vote for me in this competition. All you have to do is click this link  CLICK! and choose The Archers at The Larches under the Lit! Section.

Thank you in advance my lovelies...

S.A.S. (Special Assignment Sheep) and a Jam Giveaway

The three fields immediately visible from the house were looking a bit shaggy. One of our neighbours has a lot of sheep. It was only a matter of time before I figured out that this was a marriage made in heaven and so they arrived.

It's very relaxing to look out over the fields to see dozens of contented girls munching or standing or lying about the grass, great woolly eating machines. These sheep had one red dot on their backs, indicating they had just one lamb growing in their rapidly expanding tummies.

It is my belief that some animals have more personality than others, most of the creatures that live at The Larches have been overly blessed with personality! To prove this rule, one of the sheep, that had been bottle reared last year, was determined to choose her own grazing. No matter the height of the fence or electrical tape, she jumped it. I did suggest to the farmer that she might try out for the Olympics, but with so many sheep to lamb, I think he's rather too busy to undertake the training required as coach. She wasn't a bother really, she just preferred the grass on the other side of the fence - I'm sure we've all felt like that at some time. At bed time she hopped back over to the rest of the girls and settled down for the night.

All was peaceful.

Then, over a weekend, the tegs arrived.

The tegs [new word for me] are the yearling sheep that will be put to the tup, the ram, at the end of this year. They are the sheep equivalent of hoodies. No fence, gate or bolt of electricity can keep them from exploring their environment. It was like fat camp for me.

As I continued with my chores around the house between bouts of writing; I'm Head of Relocations for Chez Archer don't you know and my duties include returning an endless amount of c.r.a.p. back to the sproglets' bedrooms as well as piles of laundry from the utility room to bedrooms, usually via an unlimited stay in a blue Ikea bag etc, etc... I spied the escapees from the long Gothic window on the stairs.

This was my 95th journey upstairs that day, a teetering stack of neatly folded fresh clothes in my arms, I glanced out across our rural view, usually a pleasurable moment. It took me a couple of seconds to realise that these new commando-girls weren't munching the grass in Home Field but rather had surrounded my fenced-off allotment in the bottom left of the field. They were salivating over my cabbages, kale, leeks and celeriac. My eyes narrowed as I observed one determined girl rise up on her back legs and headbutt the corner post. Three more crack shots and the post began to teeter.

'Noooo,' screamed I, chucking the laundry to the floor.

I was too late, by the time I'd got down there they had pruned the cabbages. Everything else was fine. For the rest of the day I was on guard, they ran off whenever I chased them, returning to the far paddocks, but as soon as I turned my back to go to the house they formed an orderly queue and trotted back towards the restaurant allotment. In the end I bribed enlisted the children to continue to repel the siege of the cotton balls, till my neighbour came to secure them with more electical torture wire.

Sheep. Who'd have thought they could be so naughty?

I was thinking of getting two orphan lambs this year but, bearing in mind the fact that our fences are clearly less than sheep-proof and that every farmer and his dog round here has warned me not to do it AND the fact that I can't get the sproglets out of bed in the mornings, (so how the heck will they get up to clean and feed lambs?) - I was just coming down on the side of saying 'No, I'm not doing lambs this year.' It was really rather unfortunate therefore that a friend should turn up to the house last night with a cardboard box in the boot of her car..... Inside was a day old lamb, a triplet. She had been given him by another farmer and was going to try to latch him onto one of her sheep, a sheep that had lost a lamb. It had died not long after being born.

The sproglets had just returned from school and begged to hold him.

He was gorgeous and all my delay tactics flew out of the window. So, if there are any cades going, we'll probably have two. I'll let you know.

Next Tuesday I'm off to be a slave for a day, lambing on a friend's farm. I can't wait and yes, I'm fully aware that there will be poo, blood and my toes may get stamped.. or worse. Still can't wait.

* 

It's definitely Spring here, the pond is full of frog and toad spawn and in the greenhouse sown seeds are sprouting without the need for the propogator, calundula, sunflowers and cosmos to name but a few. I've re-potted the tomatoes already, planting their leggy stems deep into larger pots. I may do that several more times yet.

I feel my novel, The Perrys at The Berries, is progressing well and I'm well on my way to finishing. In fact, if you would be so kind I'd be grateful for your opinion of the first three chapters, I'm a little nervous to upload any more of my book at this time but you can read this excerpt in Authonomy. I'd be so grateful for any opinion from you, the readers of The Archers at The Larches, as it's a fictionalised account of a family, like us, trying out the rural life for the first time. Try it, see what you think.

Lastly, I'm offering the chance to win 2 pots of home made Larches jam. This draw is open to all followers.

To be eligible for the draw on Sunday 11th March. The first name pulled from a hat by hubby will get 1 pot of yummy, scrummy Blackberry and Plum Jam and 1 pot of delicious Damson Jam.

• register yourself as a Follower before Saturday 10th March with Google Friend Connect (add your little picture or logo to my Global Friends gallery,)
• AND add a comment to this post
• Existing followers need only add a comment to this blog post to be eligible for the giveaway

Good luck!

Blimey! Look at the time.....

Dear Readers/Fellow Bloggers,

It has been 32 days since my last confession blog post and I am heartily sorry. As penance I will recite three Twas The Night Before Christmases and watch The Grinch, Towering Inferno and Home Alone without sobbing.

The reason for the inactivity has mainly been due to my trying to finish editing my novel.... still not finished! That, combined with the speed of the close of year, caught me off-guard: Within days, or so it seemed, we'd had Halloween, then two of our sash windows were replaced, then there was the Bonfire Party.... two seconds later the sprogs seemed to be performing in Christmas plays. The 7yo's was on the 30th November! Then there was the Wedding Anniversary (he REMEMBERED I forgot! But he still kindly gifted me a Kindle - Super pressie.) And by the 9th of December they'd broken up for Christmas and the 9yo, the 7yo and I were on the world tour of the south of England, doling out gifts and visiting those we wouldn't see during Christmas week. Added to that mix, a grandma going slightly wobbly and my usual [fake] veneer of organisation-woman was close to crumbling.  

All through this period the HUGE Bonfire, first lit on the 5th November, has been periodically igniting.... it's still smoking today, 8 weeks after we lit it! Very bizarre. 

However, we have clearly survived. Deep breath. Christmas for adults was best described as passable but for the sprogs I think it was still magical... Once again Santa was bang out of order; this year he managed to find a ball of wool in the craft box and while we slept he created an intricate trail of pink fluffy stuff all around the house from door knobs to gifts..... I guess I should be grateful, last year he used my best silky ribbon and stomped huge boots around the place leaving great footprints of glitter on the sitting room carpet. This year winding up the web of wool from the far reaches of the house took some considerable time but at least we may be glitter free for the year.    

Before the babes broke up from school I did managed to snatch a couple of evenings with girlfriends. First there was a delightful book club supper to discuss Mr Chartwell by Rebecca Hunt. Personally I loved it but it didn't suit all members so a fab discussion ensued. It's always so gratifying when the book is not universally loved. 

Then there was a trip to the cinema in Ludlow's Assembly Rooms... a quaint theatre style cinema with plush red velvet seats. It was like stepping back into the 1960s, fitting really, as we went to see The Help set in a similar era and we weren't disappointed. See it if you can. The oppression and racism in the southern states of America in the decade I was born is depicted in Kathryn Stockett's story. It's a shocker to think such nonsense occurred during my lifetime but then again I guess it's probably still happening now.... 

***

I think the best fun I had recently was at The Winter Agricultural Fair in Builth Wells, Wales. I was with two farming wives and a New Zealand gal. Laugh?!! Yes we did, plus we ate and sipped our way through the day. One of our party, who shall remain nameless to protect the innocent, proved she hadn't lost her va-va-voom! With pretty twinkly eyes she bantered with stall-holders and was soon rewarded with beaucoup de freebies.... The power of a woman beef farmer, oh yeah! 

While we four were out for a giggle, there was more professional interest from the thousands of farmers attending the fair, they were eyeing up the baby beef cattle in advance of the auction. We watched, as the sale began, pinned to railings by large bellied farmers behind us. I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt that they were actually eager to spot the buyers nodding to the auctioneers in the sale ring below!! Young animals were fetching up to £4000. N.B. Being squashed by farmers is not especially good but it did bring on a fit of the giggles again: The exquisite type of giggling that brings tears to your eyes and snot out your nose......Brilliant.

The day’s leading price of £4700 was paid for a British Blue-sired baby heifer out of a Limousin x dam, bred locally...... No, I’m not sure what I just said either.... More concerning than the cost of a cow, bull, heifer or whatever they're called... was the fact that my pal’s hubby, (who was working the show as a stockman,) was in charge of graffiti-ing the rumps of cows. He and his companion, terribly important looking in white starched coats, were found in the sheds gluing numbers to bottoms... hmmmmm.

The strange behaviour didn't stop there, the breeders had selectively shaved their beasts, parring down their back coats to accentuate the animal's ..... well, how can I put it..... arses. One's eyes were literally drawn to the puffy oversized cheeky rumps. It was then that I realised that the pre-roast contestants were also wearing make up. Not mascara of course, [actually I couldn’t swear to that,] but they were covered in sparkly glitter. Sexy cows... would you adam and eve it?


This year’s supreme champion was a heifer, an 18 month-old Limousin-sired contender. He was bought by the judge, Alan Davies, butcher, of Welshpool, for £4500. Presumably he ended up as several people’s Christmas dinner....


In the sheep section the supreme championship went to a father and son team from Cumbria, for a pair of Beltex ewe lambs which sold for £520 each. They also exhibited the reserve champions which sold at £480 a piece to the same buyer. Just for your information, I saw no glitter on sheep....

***

The World Tour of Southern England went well. We bombed off to London to see the sights and the lights and caught up with ‘Cross The Pond and family before they escaped to the Bahamas! Grrrrr! It was the first time my 7yo had been on the Tube. I, once again, failed to meet up with FancyPants from I'm So Fancy. It's getting to be rather fun this non-meeting adventure, I left her a jar of chutney as a consolation prize!

After that we toddled off to South London to stay and catch up with my bestest pal and all round fab Godmother. Then the next morning we zoomed to Ikea Croydon and stuffed ourselves with deliciousness from their cafe. 

Next we visited my parents on the South coast and took in a brilliant musical in Southampton at The Mayflower Theatre - Peter Pan. It was really, really good. The children loved it - it doffed its cap to Pantomime but was sophisticated enough to be in the West End as a true musical. Super fun.


We even had enough time to visit our old manor in Oxfordshire, visit our old farm shop for some stunning beef rib with Tom the butcher at Q Gardens and have a playdate with pals from the previous school in an indoor adventure playground. All fab, if a bit of a rush.

Our last visit was with WYLYE GIRL AT River Cottage Diaries. She is wonderful and was the reason I finished NaNoWriMo as a winner last year, we gently bullied each other along. She was as great in real life as she is in blog land and if you've never experienced her writing take the time to check her out.

Well time has come to stretch, yawn and for the twentieth time this morning, attempt to get the log burner to roar!!! I'm cold, I'm hungry and I need to open up and clean out the chickens (their Christmas treat!) So adieu for now and I'll see you on the other side....... roll on 2012 our Olympic Year.