Decadence of country life....

It was pandemonium here the night before last. The sheep from next door, on noticing that the grass is always greener, escaped to our patch. Our neighbour was out, so hubby and I tried to catch the blighters, fearful they'd wander away off our land and over the common; our fields are not sheep secure.

It was hot and humid as we lashed up and down a buttercup and clover meadow... so pretty. so D.H. Lawrence, till I noticed that hubby was carrying a tin of Strongbow, supping between bouts of chasing! Chav, and he wouldn't even give me a sip!

Defeated, we waved at a friend who was off to the pub in the next village, asking him to check the hostelry for the official shepherd of said sheep. Pretty soon our neighbour reappeared with his crook. Jesus like, he ushered the prodigals back to their own field.

Later, when the kids were in bed, I wandered out to the garden to start the nightly plant-watering ritual. Coming towards me up the gravel drive was Willy the Shetland pony! He was dressed in his fly suit, complete with face and ear mask. In this get-up he looks like he's wearing armour; off to a short-person joust at any moment.

He was clearly fed up with his lonely field, (the other ponies had been taken to a show jumping event for the evening) and delightfully he'd found the gate to his field open!!! (School boy error that one!) Fortunately he was on a mission, not to escape, but rather to enter the field nearest the stables. I obliged, opening the gate for him and shutting it firmly behind his little bottom.

The animals on site are certainly full of personality.

The chickens have been on a go-slow for a little while and I've only been reaping 4 eggs a day instead of my usual 8 or 10. I cook a fair bit and swap eggs with pals at school, so I'd really like at least 10 eggs per day. Today I received a call from a friend of a friend who owns an egg farm: They have 13,000 chickens and have agreed that we can pop over on Saturday morning to pick up some of their older girls at £1 each. I'm going to let the sproglets choose two more chickens each, giving us 12 in total. Can't wait.

We finally bottled up the Elderflower champagne. It smells great but looks like scrumpy cider. We await the results. I don't think we'll even try it for about a month, although by all accounts we'll need to burp the bottles once a week, in case they explode!

The Yolk's on us....

Naughty Norah is in BIG trouble.

....I heard a noise in the wood shed and hidden behind a massive bit of wood was Naughty Norah. Under Naughty Norah there were 20 eggs! She clearly doesn't even want to brood them, she lays and goes. Naughty girl.

As I don't know how old these eggs are, I've donated them to the compost heap.

I thought we were a bit low on eggs recently.....especially as Laura used to lay two per day. I miss that lovely hen ... horrid fox.

My eggs are huge today....

Wit-ta-woo my eggs are big today, well not my eggs but those of my chickens! Must be all the extra corn I gave them during the Siberian spell.

I've woken up old today. Someone must have sneaked into my house in the night and hit me in the back with a cricket bat. I'm walking a little lob-sided. My hair desperately needs cutting and my eyebrows need harvesting. Let's not discuss any other hair areas as it's lunch time (in this part of the blogisphere.)

On a positive note I managed to get the babes into school by 8am. Daughter asked if she could board at school, aparently it's all the rage with her friends. I had mixed feelings, first; obviously, I'd really miss her, second; that room might finally get tidy. It's not an option anyway, I'd have to sell a body part in order to pay for it.

After drop off I drove to Ludlow.
http://www.ludlow.org.uk
A beautiful little town, nay gastro-centre, where the proper butcher resides. The tiny shop, enough room for maybe three customers, is filled with merry singing butchers. Murder victims hang on hooks street side; pheasants and bunnies fully furred and feathered. I bought lots of good stuff and now have a beef brisket gently bubbling in the slow cooker. Smug, smug, smug - dinner's done.