So it's been a while since I had anything I felt the need to blog about. Binky has had her op and is doing great; she still has some milk and is feeding her mittens - whose numbers have once more increased by one. Yes, the second mewling from the kitchen roof of a couple of weeks ago manifested itself in a tiny black and white form in the feed room last weekend, which then disappeared again until Friday evening when it appeared with Poppy on the patio. Hmmm. Some while later I let Dora out for a waz and was amazed to see this tiny slip of a cat with its weeny back arched and miniscule tail a bottle brush, standing in the doorway and effctively blocking her re-entry. What a wuss!
I spent part of the weekend wrestling with the desire to ride in the arena on the one hand, while shaking my fist at the heavens in view of lack of rain with which to settle the surface on the other. In the end I decided to give the boys the weekend off in protest so we spent much of the day pimping the garden. I was going to say primping, which would be more correct, but decided I like pimping better, and as it's my garden, pimping it is. If I can't pimp my own garden, what hope is there for anything? Sid sprayed an array of weeds with some weedkiller, and to date the weeds sit there resolutely refusing to be affected in any tangible way. If they had arms, they'd be folded. If they had faces, they'd be frowning. If they had voices, they'd be saying "Non!". Yes, that level of recalcitrance leads to me inexorably to one conclusion: we have French weeds.
Saturday evening Sid and I invited our old YO round for a barbie. Had a message to say she was running late so we cracked on with the starter (glorious halloumi and Wrong Tomato kebabs, coated in olive oil and oregano) and demolished a bottle of Amarone in very short order, followed by a nice Rioja. Meanwhile, still no YO. Eventually we had to eat, although in truth rather too much wine had been consumed by that point and it wasn't long before the madnes overcame us and there was much impromptu music and dancing. With hindsight I should never have broken out the pernod, but it's good to cut loose every now and again even if you do then feel seriously rancid for much of the next day and fall asleep next to the bog as the lesser of a long list of evils.
Some time during the evening, with Poppy and her little one loitering on the patio and Poppy seeming very uninterested in feeding the little tyke, Sid took pity on it and scooped it up to join our growing brood of felines. As a result we now have 8 MITTENS. ***Sid's choice, not mine***
Needless to say I was (a) curled up asleep on the sofa, (b) bog eyed and bleary, and (c) still predominantly in my jimjams when Pheel arrived on Sunday afternoon with a large consignment of haylage for next winter, some 10 large round bales which we have perhaps rashly opted to store in the empty half of the muck clamp. There are only so many places you can physically store that much haylage. We had a coffee and discussed the options for a field shelter for the girls, and then he went again. For a short while afterwards I entertained the possibility of doing something with the boys but quickly recognised this for the act of purest optimism that it was and merely put them back in the summer paddocks, the remainder of the electric fencing remaining undone for another week as a result of general levels of unwellness within the household.
Should get our chain harrow this week, which I am looking forward to almost as much as finally being able to get in the sodding arena with the boys, who incidentally (touch wood) have settled down lately in terms of mullahing the fence every five minutes.
I actually had a call today from a very posh sounding lady called Sarah wanting to know if I had any tabbies available. I felt myself getting very cagey because we do have a tabby but we plan to keep her, but was saved by the fact that she was specifically after a boy. I said to Sid, where there's one call surely there will be more.
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