It's a sunny bright morning outside, Charlie is in the Kitchen today, making breakfast as I am doing his routine farmyard chores due to his hop along bad ankle. Now that I finished the jobs the sky has become overcast grey, Charlie's ankle is better, so we're doing some errands today.
This morning, Charlie purchased me some pink crocs slippers, so my feet are not freezing on the bone chilling cold farmhouse floor. I've continued writing these paragraphs, whilst he is preparing himself to go out; he takes a long time to do his to do, adding more to-do's one after another; leaving me waiting around for anything between thirty and sixty minutes.
In the afternoon we fetched a replacement hydraulic pipe for the tipping trailer, then checked on the sheep at our two grass keeps. We stopped at Galashiels, where I found a back clip to fasten my earring, then we journeyed towards Clovenfield. I took some pictures of a tower I visited last year, which I's mistook for a Peel tower, but was in fact a border home of the Pringle clan. According to history, they just locked the building up, then left it to fall down.
On our way returning to the farmhouse, we stopped along the Yair valley, I took some time to get some air, as my anxiety was in fever pitch after leaving Galashiels.
River Tweed running through the Yair forest valley.
The animosity in the Borders Pet Rescue charity shop was spine-chilling, reacting as though I was stepping over their graves. These cold shoulder hostilities come from psychological state terrorism involving the despotic quasi-socialist church, decimating potential connections with alienation.
Charlie's painful ankle, ouch!
Arriving at the farmhouse, Charlie noticed five Bulgarian Lev's blowing in the wind, reckoned he could smell perfume on the note. The incident unnerved him, but I didn't expect it to be the "strangers", because "strangers" place things down where they won't blow away, in such a way that you know they are deliberate. His ankle is a deep shade of purple, I am glad it is not broken, he is walking and will be returning to work tomorrow, hopefully. This evening the loopy farmhouse rescue dog bit his teeth into my forearm for attempting to lead him through the front door; the dog is absolutely nuts with phobias due to his previous owner attempting to terrorise him into being a sheepdog. I've told Charlie that I am not taking him out for walks again; I'll be OK if accompanied but on my own the dog is just to unpredictable.
Ewe has late lambed a tup this evening.
We've noticed we have had a "visitor" today, because of a cigarette butt left upon our drive, I am considering moving a CCTV camera to the front of the farmhouse. This might seem paranoid but the farmhouse is rural remote, and none of our neighbours smoke. Rain is relentlessly pouring down, as Charlie attempts to re-route the outside electrics from tripping every socket in the farmhouse. Weather is so poor that Charlie has moved the ewes and lambs from the paddock into the poly tunnel, irony that a late ewe decides to lamb tonight.
This morning, Charlie purchased me some pink crocs slippers, so my feet are not freezing on the bone chilling cold farmhouse floor. I've continued writing these paragraphs, whilst he is preparing himself to go out; he takes a long time to do his to do, adding more to-do's one after another; leaving me waiting around for anything between thirty and sixty minutes.
In the afternoon we fetched a replacement hydraulic pipe for the tipping trailer, then checked on the sheep at our two grass keeps. We stopped at Galashiels, where I found a back clip to fasten my earring, then we journeyed towards Clovenfield. I took some pictures of a tower I visited last year, which I's mistook for a Peel tower, but was in fact a border home of the Pringle clan. According to history, they just locked the building up, then left it to fall down.
On our way returning to the farmhouse, we stopped along the Yair valley, I took some time to get some air, as my anxiety was in fever pitch after leaving Galashiels.
The animosity in the Borders Pet Rescue charity shop was spine-chilling, reacting as though I was stepping over their graves. These cold shoulder hostilities come from psychological state terrorism involving the despotic quasi-socialist church, decimating potential connections with alienation.
Arriving at the farmhouse, Charlie noticed five Bulgarian Lev's blowing in the wind, reckoned he could smell perfume on the note. The incident unnerved him, but I didn't expect it to be the "strangers", because "strangers" place things down where they won't blow away, in such a way that you know they are deliberate. His ankle is a deep shade of purple, I am glad it is not broken, he is walking and will be returning to work tomorrow, hopefully. This evening the loopy farmhouse rescue dog bit his teeth into my forearm for attempting to lead him through the front door; the dog is absolutely nuts with phobias due to his previous owner attempting to terrorise him into being a sheepdog. I've told Charlie that I am not taking him out for walks again; I'll be OK if accompanied but on my own the dog is just to unpredictable.
We've noticed we have had a "visitor" today, because of a cigarette butt left upon our drive, I am considering moving a CCTV camera to the front of the farmhouse. This might seem paranoid but the farmhouse is rural remote, and none of our neighbours smoke. Rain is relentlessly pouring down, as Charlie attempts to re-route the outside electrics from tripping every socket in the farmhouse. Weather is so poor that Charlie has moved the ewes and lambs from the paddock into the poly tunnel, irony that a late ewe decides to lamb tonight.
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