Shearing.... never again..

For several years now I have been convinced that I have the talent to make a marvelous sheep shearer. This belief is without basis and indeed without one jot of practical experience. Last year, our first year of shearing, my back decided to ruin my chances of learning, (too much extreme gardening with Lou's Poo Alpaca Poo!) and so I was forced to outsource the stripping of my girls to our kind neighbour.

This year I was fighting fit. I enlisted the help of our long-suffering neighbour again and he, in turn, brought his apprentice; his son. The paraphernalia they brought with them was amazing.

As I tried to construct a pathetic holding pen out of knackered hurdles in a tiny paddock outside the American barn, they suggested simply herding the sheep into one of the huge empty birthing stables. Hmmm, didn't think of that. Then they stood about a bit and looked at the metal joists high above our heads, before rooting about in their paraphernalia kit and hoisting a walloping chain up and over the bar. Next they attached a motor that weighed A LOT, followed by a pipe attached to the motor, and finally the shear.

Then they looked at me.

The hubby, deliberately dressed in his office clothes! the boy, the girl and her pal from school, all stood about looking at me. Oh poo.

I vaguely remember being asked if I was ready to go but clearly I looked so ashen that our neighbour suggested he do the first one, then I could go from then on. Right. Easy.

The first sheep, Cocoa, chosen for her monumental fleece, was naked in no time. There was no blood or histrionics. My turn.

I simply couldn't even remember where to start... was it the bum or the neck? Not. A. Clue.

Apparently it was the tummy followed by the nether regions and one lower side. Then the neck (which is terrifying) up the tummy and over the back as far the spine, plus a bit...... [are you lost yet?..... I was]

So, my victim was Pink. I raised her on the bottle in 2012 and helped her lamb her twins in 2014. Here I was clearly going to kill her.....

In truth, I didn't actually kill her, though I do confess to having nicked her several times. Having almost completed the job (though not well) I had to defer to farmer's son as I suddenly came over all Victorian and faint #pathetic and had to sit down. I was 75% there but couldn't yet claim to have sheared a whole sheep. I strongly suspected that I'd found an activity that I wasn't equipped for.The 11yo sprayed Pink's cuts with purple antiseptic while looking at me with regret. Pink was ushered from the barn, bleating and looking like mobile graffiti.

In my defence I was born in St John's Wood. The issue is trying to juggle a wriggly sheep, a life threatening weapon and a non compliant 48 year old body. So annoying.

The next sheep was thrust into my willing arms. I was determined to complete my quest. This time, bearing in mind that it was 24 degrees outside, I discarded my thick sweater. Now, added to the wriggly sheep, a life threatening weapon and a non compliant 48 year old body was the realization that my bosoms might fall out of my vest. Unfortunately half way through this shear my sheep companion decided to have a hissy fit and, in my desperate attempt to gently restrain it and my lady parts, I accidentally sheared the farmer.

I have now retired from shearing. Thank you for sharing this mortificado experience with me.

[Please note, my apologies for the orientation of the video - clearly video uploads are a mystery to me too.... If you can't see the video, click on the title of the blog post and you should see me butchering shearing a sheep but only if you tilt your head to the side and you're not on an Apple product.... and there isn't a full moon. #offtobedifIdidn'thavethealpacashearerarrivinginanhoursob!]

Birthday Season

We have reached the season of Birthdays in the house; Daddy, the 7yo, (who will soon be called the 8yo,) the 5yo (who shall soon be renamed the 6yo) and the two cats, all have birthdays within a five week period. It's neat, but challenging. The only downside to this time of year is the bombardment of advertising aimed at children for Christmas... it gives my two babies some wild expectations.

'Whaddya mean they won't be satisfied with a nice book and a birthday cake?'

This year Daddy refused gifts on the grounds that we are installing yet another log burner in the house, this time in the kitchen...... downstairs; that will make four in total . Due to this new installation, I'm pretty sure that we will live our lives in the kitchen over the winter months, no bad thing really... but I digress! ... So, the sproglets made Daddy pictures: The 7yo drew an aeroplane and the 5yo drew a graphic scene from Star Wars - least that's what he said it was. Daddy loved the effort and has installed top-banana art in his business office .... I made big steak and chips.... two nights running!

For the first time in their little lives, the sproglets will have separate celebrations. The 7yo and four pals are having their nails 'done' by a beautician (a friend of mine,) who has also promised to bring make-up for experimentation... uh-oh! Then there will be pizza a movie and a lack-of-sleepover! Needless to say the 5yo (boy) was horrified at the thought of girls/make-up/girl movie. He and Dad have conspired to go out for the evening... I'm stuck obviously, the last bastion of hope between nail varnish and my walls/floors/furniture.

The boy is having a swimming party, with wild waves and slides, in a big city some 35 miles away. Unfortunately the swimming pool rules dictate a ratio of parent to child in the wet, tepid, stage-managed storm conditions and this doesn't seem a wildly popular choice of party with the parents who have just made the transition into all their Autumn boots and thermals. Personally I'm rather more concerned that my swimming costume may not be sturdy enough, I seem to have had some bosom-slippage!.... I may invest in a new one before the event... adding yet more cost to the party! Mind you, I'm sure the manufacturers of Veet and Immac will be indebted to me forever....

The cats may not live to see another birthday... I've just found the most enormous pile of innards beside my new (but old) welsh dresser, no fur, no feathers just a huge pile of liver and other parts that I'd recognise if I'd paid attention in biology! 'Scusting.

Sheep rustling....well almost...

Due to my previous post I have been advised by a very kind fellow blogger not to get too distressed by my attempt to clean the house before guests arrive. Thank you Natural Selection. Deep breath....

Just as well really as one of my stable tenants has just ridden up with a lamb slung across her saddle which had been clipped by a rubbish motorist. We have now spent the best part of 30 mins travelling the hills and dales searching for a mummy sheep..... Secretly I wanted to keep said lamb to raise myself but I know that wasn't nature's intention.... BUT I still have several of the 5yo's bottles and teats that I could fashion into sheep bosoms... Ok, Ok I hear you! Baby lamb is best left to search for his mummy .... We certainly placed him with all the mummy's with the black spots that graze across the hills and he was eating grass so I'm hoping he'll be ok ....

Having carried the cutie in my arms I now smell rather interesting and am once again very smug about having purchased Dizzy Disco at the auction. As the vehicle smells like a farmer's armpit I feel the lamb must have felt very at home in the footwell.

When we arrived back at the house the 5yo and the 7yo were really misty eyed, I presume the country-side is so full of new joys and interests for them....

'Mummy?' they said.

'Yes Darlings?' I replied putting on my flowery pinny and whistling for a garden robin to come sit on my finger...

'Can we play Nintendo DS now?....'

....Grrrrrrrrr

My Daughter was 'Man of the Match'...

So proud. The seven year old is one of two girls in the under sevens of a reputable rugby club. She is loving rugby training and today, on her third session she won 'Man of the Match' for being supportive of team mates, for scoring a try and for stripping the opposition of more than 6 tags. She is a superstar.

When I was at University in Wales (many years ago) the ladies rugby team asked me to join them and I'm sad to say I declined. I was concerned for several reasons, first my hair style may have been ruined, second I had really rather nice nails and third, and possibly most importantly I had enormous bosoms, which I feared may be pummelled in the fray. They should ask me again now as my hair is tragic, my nails non-existent and I could tuck my bosoms into my pants!

I'm praying daughter will not inherit said floppy bits.....and I'm doubly praying that my five year old boy will avoid that plague too.