The weekend saw a gathering of teenagers and slightly older teenagers, invariably in their 50s, although Farmer T possibly 60s, as they gathered in the old byre to celebrate eldest daughter’s 16th birthday.
Preparations for the day had been conducted in top secret as I had been warned that under no circumstances were there to be any balloons, decorations and fuss, just a small gathering of her friends. As she sat her final exam I enlisted the help of the younger two to help transform the byre, complete with streamers, and of course balloons.
As I traipsed between byre and farmhouse with goodies the line of helpers seemed to be ever increasing. First it was just me and the children, and then the dogs began to follow our steady stream back and forth, between farmhouse and byre. Charlie hen then joined the line, waddling closely behind her pal Mist the sheepdog, much to Mist’s annoyance. Finally it all got a bit too taxing when I found myself tripping over Sherbet the pet lamb too, constantly under my feet, bleating away, faithfully following backwards and forwards, until I could persuade youngest to go and mix a bottle of lamb’s milk and put her back in her pen.
The BBQ and party went well, teenagers tripping back and forth, happy farmer and Farmer T in charge of cooking and drinks, girlies sat in sunshine giggling away, and as the evening wore on, and the sun disappeared, fading below the horizon, we retired into the byre, to the disco lights and music. At some unearthly hour I made it back to the farmhouse where various bodies were sleeping in various corners, movies playing in one room with popcorn, lights out and snoring from another. The following day they all headed off to the beach for an afternoon of sunbathing and swimming. Oh to be 16 again.
Finally in the early hours of Sunday evening the happy farmer and I got to relax in the garden hammocks. We were joined a while later by the happy chappy and his brother. As I went to get drinks I suggested the happy chappy relaxed in a hammock, slightly cautious he remarked that he had not ventured into a hammock before, and would not know how to position himself without toppling off. Full of the joys of the hammocks I carefully advised him to place his bottom in the middle of the hammock and swing his legs across. Being ever so over zealous in following my good advice his backside missed the middle as he flung himself right over the edge of the hammock, flying backwards through the air, and landing upside down, legs splayed and hammock landing on top of him, and hardly a drop of his cider spilt, I was most impressed.
Until next time….