Life has been doing the unthinkable and getting badly in the way of blogging.....maybe that is a positive thing, but I am back. The summer months are flying by and the children are back at school already. Daily routines are being re-established, as we wave goodbye to all of the visitors and the sun shine dares to disappear behind the cloud and the evenings begin to once more draw in again.
The happy farmer continues his building project and is so near to completion now. Living in the farmhouse resembles a dentist's waiting room, not because it is neat, clean and tidy, far from it, but because my nerves are constantly on edge with the regular grinding of circular saws and drop saw. It reminds me of the chain saw massacre. I wince every time the drill roars to life, listening to the clanging of tools, the shouts of despair when things are not going accordingly, the deep sighs and the general reminder that it is no easy task. The saw has already claimed one finger, luckily not the happy farmer's, and certainly not a recent claim, but the memory of the happy potter feeding his finger to the jaws of that saw remain emblazoned on my mind.
As I drove youngest out of the farmyard and onto the single track road today to make the journey to school I could hardly miss the flattened tin of silver paint that had spewed its contents out across the road, and the discarded rucksack lying abandoned at the side of the road. I tried to get my head round the clues that had been left challenging me on the road ahead as we continued our journey. A walker, leaving the rucksack while he stops to get a perfect photo of the Paps, or to relieve himself behind the hedge. The walker then became a protester, rucksack on back, large can of silver paint in hand, ready to join the march, the words never leave baggage unattended rang out in my ears, as youngest left me at the school gates. On the journey home then my head was filled with thoughts of terrorism, bombs and protesters as I gingerly drove over the paint and past the abandoned ruck sack once more.
Of course the happy farmer had a much simpler explanation, work men heading to the morning ferry, in a rush, back door of van not closed properly and rucksack and paint fell out onto road. A five minute drive to catch the mainland ferry before it left our shores and the happy farmer's suspicions were confirmed. One happy workman grinned as he made his way along the ramp off the ferry boat to retrieve his rucksack out of our jeep, safe in the knowledge that his dirty linen would not be laid out in public but would accompany him home to the mainland.
Until next time.....
The happy farmer continues his building project and is so near to completion now. Living in the farmhouse resembles a dentist's waiting room, not because it is neat, clean and tidy, far from it, but because my nerves are constantly on edge with the regular grinding of circular saws and drop saw. It reminds me of the chain saw massacre. I wince every time the drill roars to life, listening to the clanging of tools, the shouts of despair when things are not going accordingly, the deep sighs and the general reminder that it is no easy task. The saw has already claimed one finger, luckily not the happy farmer's, and certainly not a recent claim, but the memory of the happy potter feeding his finger to the jaws of that saw remain emblazoned on my mind.
