A sunny, blustery morning, I grabbed the happy farmer’s flip flops and waded across the lawn, washing basket tucked under my arm, towards the washing line. The strong breeze sweeping hair across my eyes, as I blindly paddled forth. I looked down to see the water and mud oozing ever closer to my socks. Of course the battle was completely lost as I decided to down the washing basket and pop out of the garden to the kennels to let the sheep dogs out for a run. I did skilfully manage to totter around the edges of the muddy puddles, but then got completely caught out in the swampy mud as the runny gooey clods finally touched base with my socks, drenching them in muddy slime.
Only the happy farmer could possess a pair of pool side rubber flip flops, better suited to those hot summer days in the south of
, for nipping outdoors on his hebridean sheep farm. Only the happy farmer’s wife could be daft enough to slip those ever so large ‘boats’ onto her feet to venture outside to hang out the washing………..only today the ‘boats’ completely sank!! France
Until next time.....