Happy Holidays

Apologies for the blogging tardiness of late, the summer holidays are upon us and we’ve been having a busy old time of it.

Wales 057The holidays started with a weekend away in Wales with old friends and their families.  Despite my misgivings about sharing a house with 8 children, a very jolly time indeed was had (this may have had something to do with the copious amounts of alcohol that we were also sharing the house with, for a short while anyway).  There is something very special about that group of friends who you may not see for months, or years, on end, but as soon as you’re back together the conversation flows and the laughing commences.  It amazes me that I could possibly have known them for over half of my life, and as soon as we’re back together it’s like the years have been peeled away, and you’re back in your early 20s sharing a flat and making inappropriate personal comments to each other, and having uncontrollable fits of laughter at the smallest of things.  Long forgotten memories were remembered (some of them, I’d rather have remained forgotten, especially those that we realised could have gotten us arrested) and new memories were made (thankfully, all perfectly legal).  It was a great weekend, one from which I returned feeling rather exhausted due to some stupidly late nights, but very happy.  And we’ve vowed to aim to make it an annual occasion rather than continuing to let the years slip away between meetings.

Once back at the barn, my continued badgering of the farmer paid off, and he agreed to let me help out at the farm.  So over the last couple of weeks I’ve been getting to know the sheep, they’ve been footbathed, they’ve been dipped and they’ve been medicated – some of them have also been inadvertently released from pens by my good self not checking the gate was properly shut (I’m hoping it’s a lesson I only have to learn the once, as I’ve still not heard the end of it).  I’ve also been mowed down by a sheep (when doing an extravagant, leg in the air, farmer dance), butted in the stomach by a sheep, and pulled over by a sheep, into a big sheep poo muddy puddle.  Perhaps the weirdest thing about all of this is how very, very much I have enjoyed the whole experience, and now think I might have a new addiction on the horizon.  In fact that’s underplaying it a bit, I totally have a new addiction.  I can’t even find the right superlative to put into words how I feel about it.  So we’ll just leave it at good, really good.  Of course, I’m yet to work with the cows (well, other than the time when the farmer shoved me into a prickly hedge to “protect” me from being trampled by cows who’d been scared by a sudden thunderclap) – and so we’ll see if I still feel so chipper coming home covered in cow pats.

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