Tales of a thermometer......

You may have thought I was dead, so quiet my blogging has been, (non-existent actually.) In my head a stream of blog posts have made me laugh, made me cry, educated and cogitated... sad none of them made it to t'internet........

Still, it's January; time for resolution and revolution. I vowed to write every day in January, BT had other ideas. Humph! But I'm here now, with lots to tell of hot holidays and a growing herd of alpaca. First on my list is our plans for growing some chicks.

The 11yo requested funding from a poorly heeled venture capitalist (The Hubby) and after submitting a very interesting business plan for selling Salmon Faverolle chickens, (enormous profits though with no mention of deductions for feed, heat, bedding or medicinal supplies,) we began a joint venture and bought a second-hand egg incubator.

Realising our game plan, the chickens stopped laying. Grrrr. They have since revised this tactic and are now laying again but only in secret locations...

In any case we are ready: The Hubby has made a brooder where the chicks can live for their 1st month after which time they will be out in the protection of the hen pens in the garden. Sorted. The only thing we seemed to be missing was a thermometer to check the temperature inside the incubator. We ordered one of these from our erratically functioning Internet and the day before yesterday a box arrived for The Hubby. He poured over it's little booket that evening, as only a man can.

'Could you take a look at the thermometer today, see if you're happy with it?' Hubby asked yesterday morning at the crack of sparrows, before departing into the dark for his office an hour away.

Of course I can, thought I. I can do it after I feed and clean the hens, see to the lovely alpaca, try to contain the sheep in their mud patch, make sourdough and set to work on a web-based catalogue.... of course I can check a silly little thermometer. Easy peasy.

By 10am I had power-walked up a mountain, (my new butt-busting routine after drop-off,) all creatures were sorted, I'd put a wash on, the dishwasher was humming and the sourdough was being bashed up by the bread-maker - what a cheater! I checked the thermometer and it read 28°C, not bad for January really. The sun was shining and there was a hint of Spring in the air, lovely. A big NO! to lighting the log burner in the kitchen, I'm a country-girl now. I settled down to my web work.

An hour or so later I fancied a coffee and a stretch: Time to check the thermometer. Fabulously it was still 28°C and though I felt a little chilly, I put this down to my sitting still for so long. The coffee would warm me, so still no need for the log burner. #SaveThatWood.

A couple of hours later and I was proper cold. The sun was leaving the kitchen, off on its way to lend its weak rays to the west of the house and the light was fading at the table where I was working. I guesstimated the temperature was approximately 10°C and dragged my hypothermic body over to the thermometer to verify this.

It was still 28°C. It was only then that I realised my mistake. Peeling the printed film from the front of the gadget, I realised that the flaming thing didn't even have a battery in it... Sob!

Bring on the dogs with the brandy....

Oh, 18°C, not that bad actually, just indoor coat and hat weather......

SOB!

We are no further with the decorating, life has whizzed passed and we are living in upside down world where dishes, pots, pans etc are secreted in every place in the house, other than the place they ought to live - the kitchen. At least the dust has settled and I'm sure by the 15th wash-down, it will be safe enough to begin our painting.

The roosters have gone.... can't quite tell you where, for fear of exposing myself to recrimination from the sproglets. For now, let's just say they went to the poultry auction.....

The cold has finally arrived and I have been forced, on three nights, to light my paraffin heater in the green house. So far, the plants look fine and I ventilate the space well when I can. It's these chilly days when I sit in my office and write and edit and edit and write, that I want tea and hot buttered toast and stew and potatoes and very possibly Coq au Vin! I'll have to check my freezer for good ingredients!

A new cat has appeared on the site. He looks very like Tabby or Benny and from a distance we thought it was one of our boys. But this one is tubby. He's really friendly and I can't believe he doesn't belong to someone. For now he's content to sleep with the horses in the stables, though he has politely asked to come indoors and soon I feel sure he will suss the cat-flap. I'm not against him adopting us really, I just don't want Tabby or Benny to leave home because of him. We'll see what happens.

The 9yo has been petitioning for lambs and while there is a stable we can use to house some cades, (orphans we'll raise by bottle,) our fences are only good for corralling bigger beasts. What. To. Do? I suppose it electric fencing, but this is a whole new foray for us. The farmers around here have all raised cades and they tell me 'NO, DON'T DO IT!'

Then again, that means that they've done it and have had that experience. I'm pleading the Doubting Thomas card on this one, basically I've got to see how bad an experience it is for myself.

IF we do get 2 cades, one for the 9yo, one for the 7yo, they'll be long-term pets, raised as lawn mowers...... hmmmm, we'll see.

This morning I was reminding the sprogs about rehearsing guitar for their Thursday lesson. I've constructed quite a good rewards chart on a white-board in the kitchen (covered in dust!) and have displayed pretty decent prizes in the glass cabinet of the Welsh dresser. A friend remarked that this was like an elaborate arcade game and she's quite right. With 7 points the sprogs get to choose a prize. This morning the 9yo won a bottle of mouth wash. Don't mock! Whatever floats their boat is in that dresser.

Guitar practise is one of the steps in my incentive programme........ I'm sure I did something similar to car dealers when I worked for Nissan a zillion years ago!

'Don't forget guitar tonight,' said I. 'You've got to learn the new tune you've been given by Thursday, so's your teacher can test you.'

There were groans from the back seat as we drove to school this morning.

'We'll check out your tune on the Internet again,' I said to the boy. 'So that we can try to remember how it goes, as I just don't know it.'

It's easy for me when they get set a tune like Jingle Bells or Twinkle Twinkle, I know those tunes and can hum along, but this new one La Bergamasca, though sweet, is new to me and I can't quite fix it in my head. Therefore can't tell if they are playing the correct notes or not but it's great to see and hear it being played online.

'How old are you mummy?' Boy asked.

I smiled, clever ruse really, trying to change the subject.

'I'm 46 but I want you to tell everyone that I'm 43.' I replied.

'Why?'

'Because.'

'OK,' he said. 'But if you're 46 you should know the tune. Mr Burgess, [the guitar teacher,] said it was a really old tune and as you're really old, you should know it.'

'Good point,' said I. Sob..... that's not S.O.B....just sob! sniff.