Teeswater cade lambs at Woodburn Farmhouse 1st May 2024.
May 2024
31st
The thing is with this anxiety is that there is no relief, even though I know this fear is unsubstantiated, the anxieties play on as if nothing else mattered but fear. It isn't that I fear, Charlie says I don't fear, but when I believe I am anxious, I dissociate from the fear.

The weather was mild, I enjoyed walking though Hawick high street, near Common Haugh entered a local butchers and purchased a steak pie, shopping locally, when possible is a necessity for me, I like to see who is making and supplying my food.





I enjoyed the walk along this nature trail, commencing by a bend in the river at the beginning of Wilton Lodge Park. The footpath inclines and shadowed by trees invoking thoughtful solitude and cooling calmness.

The trail cleared and conjoined onto a quiet countryside lane at Wilton Dean village. I walked down into Hawick as I needed some ingredients to compliment the steak pie I'd purchased from the butchers; looking forward to cooking this for Charlie tonight.

Charlie enjoyed his cooked meal, I nagged him off the couch so we could walk off the calories. I've lived on this estate a year and a half, I am happily leaving in three days; I've made no meaningful friendships, despite attempts to befriend cold shouldered neighbours.
28th
Busy day, been weeding our kitchen garden, we have so many vegetables to plant this year at Woodburn Farmhouse.

We baited the flock with ewe pellets, from the paddock onto the farm drive way. Charlie trimmed the hoofs of two ewes; a sick cade lamb (yesterday, too week to stand up) was dagged and has now returned to drinking bottled milk; which appears to be working.

Zwartble mother ewe is almost ready to go, just her lamb that requires ear identification tags before boarding, to go through livestock passport control.
The law of the land states that all livestock are required to have numbers, and to transport them, a livestock movement book is required.

Our friend could not find the padlock key to the field so we lifted the sheep over the gate one by one. The Zwartble mother ewe waited as we unloaded her lamb.

Early evening the rain ceased, so I strimmed the remaining dock leaves from the paddock, bringing the job earlier than tomorrows planned date. I was so tired when I came down from the hill, Charlie helped me drop the strimmer, kindly brushed down my clothes before I changed to rid myself of the grass pollen that was making me sneeze. I'd been using the strimmer for over two hours, my body would not shaking. I covered myself up on this occasion as I am allergic to the grass pollen; with the effect of making my skin swell to the appearance of Cellulitis.

The doctor at A&E thought I suffered this but tests returned a negative result; however anti-histamines (piriteze) took the swelling down.


We purchased a petrol strimmer as the dock leaf infestation on the paddock is bewildering, the lambs have not faired well grazing; feels as though the farmhouse paddock has been cursed; as the lambs at our other two grass keeps are in good condition.
23rd
My emergency accomodation located in the Silverbutthall area of Hawick; kindly provided by Scottish Borders council.

Although the neighbours were ignorant and unfriendly, this was a warm and safe haven from the harsh reality of homelessness.
17th
Today we awoken inside a hotel in Leicester from visiting Charles parents and sibling brother near Coventry. We travelled travelled to M1 via Loughborough, taking pictures along the way. We departed from a delicious breakfast at Leicester University's College Court hotel driving toward Loughborough along the A6; briefly stopping in Highfield's to capture a picture of a ex-children's home building that I'd been a resident around thirty six years ago.

The experience was spooky, as memories surfaced as an ongoing apparitions; of disturbed children who lived there with my disturbances. I was resettled here from the Holt and The experience was spooky, as memories surfaced as an ongoing apparitions; of disturbed children who lived there with my disturbances wrought from surviving a single parent, paranoid schizophrenic mother from four to eleven years old. Tried to kill a canvassing MP.


was resettled here from the Holt and Dumblane Avenue children's homes before being moved into "leaving care" hostel accommodation down Highfields Street, into a poky room inside a terrace house located along Gopsal Street. Half an hour later in Rusheymead I was surprised to find Dumblane Avenue still functioning as a children's home after talking to a residential social worker during his cigarette break at the homes gate. Talking to him felt strange, for a moment we thought we recognised each other, his staunch demeanour was that of a handler; which, on gaining retrospective, his presence made me feel uneasy.

Between the age of 11 and 15 I had fifty-two moves whilst placed into "in care" of social services, from then on I became a new age traveller. I did not attempt to look at the Holt two miles away in Birstall, probably because I was abused there. Ten miles drive away, we arrived in Loughborough our next stop, the Great Central Railway museum station. Other than being born in this town and living in the area Thorpe Arce for the first four years of my life, I lived at a foster home, a hostel in Shelthorpe and two B&Bs along the A6. We found the Great Central Railway to be closed, returning I requested if I could take a picture of the wooden booking office, a museum curator then kindly granted me and Charlie access.










Despite an abysmal childhood and ailing adult mental health I feel both a sense of pride and fascination at my birth towns history. The openness of the museum left me reversely tearful in contrast to my encounter with the residential social worker at Dumblane Ave. We found walking down the stairwell and onto the platform almost a step back in time. I was taken aback by our then rich ancestral history and how we'd expanded the rail network. Returning to the Kiosk on our way out I made a small donation, the curator then opened the museum for us, inside was displayed a wealth of history, and also an information film.


Leaving the museum, we had to notify the curator so that he could lock up the museum. I had a lot of problems when I lived at a ground floor flat in Freehold Street, a mere quarter of a mile from this museum; every Sunday a group of people would break bread outside my kitchen window. This flat, emergency shelter provided by the council was also broken into, and frequented regularly by intruders that stole nothing other than my locks of hair that I'd tied to a copper pipe in my airing cupboard. I have terrible memories of this town, that by birth should have been my home.

We had arrived in Loughborough on a Thursday, market day, consumers (including my mother) used to travel into the town from satellite villages to shop here. There is a statue called the Sock Man Statue that I in view of the disturbances I experienced in this town, nicked named INGSOC; the statue is told to represent the now defunct hosiery trade (work outsourced to Asia) my mother worked at Mansfield Hosieries, Charter house and Rob Roy. My flat on Freehold Street was situated a stone throw away from Taylors bell makers; They cast the great bell for Saint Paul's Cathedral, London.



The original cast for this bell can be viewed from within Victoria Park. I took a picture of the Bastard gates as we drove passed Loughborough University; I had planned to visit Bradgate Park but began returning to the Scottish Borders after turning back at Oaks in Charnwood.

Bastard gates.

Noticed they'd built the hated incinerator in the old tarmac quarry, because Shepshed's cursed destiny is to burn in rubbish. The journey north along the M1 motorway was congested, and Charlie raged at the fuel prices. We saved four pounds by travelling a mile to a petrol station from the A1 at Scotch corner A66.
15th
Today I met Charlie's parents.
I also met his brother.