Thursday, 2 August 2007

Ray Mears is a wimp

Pappa's got a brand new Pod: Rosalee (Thin Lizzy)
Eating: anything but curry and fried breakfasts
Drinking: Orkney Dark Island
Walking: the dogs

Right, that's it, I'm never leaving this bloody island as long as I live. 3,000 miles in less than a fortnight have taken their toll and I've developed range of phobias covering white vans, spicy food, B&Bs, the A9, shortbread and Fox's Glacier Mints.

My body reached Westray 48 hours ago and I feel sure my brain will follow just as soon as it's found it's ticket for the ferry.

I have to admit that I went a bit mad when I got here, launching straight into some of the work that needs doing round here, rather than resting up. Today I'm paying the price. My 46-year-old frame is creaking severely, thanks to poor diet, too much alcohol and an excess of sudden physical exercise.

Still, on the up side, a decent-sized area has been cleared for the pigs - all sorts of scrap metal, rotten wood and broken glass now in a big pile at the back of the barn and we're ready to put up the electric fence, when I get round to buying it.

Not only that, but some good friends of ours were already here with Sally - our first visitors. Nick has proved to be a bit of a diamond, helping out with lifting and carrying, not to mention the drinking.

He also went fishing and filled a shelf of the freezer with mackerel and pollack, before going out shooting, returning with enough rabbits for the barbecue and some left over for a stew.

After a delightful, if breezy, barbecue, we lit a bonfire using the remains of an old shed that had not so much been demolished as committed suicide. Standing around, eyeing the flames, drinking Tennents Lager from cans, setting the world to rights in a blokey kind of a way, was a great way to unwind.

Midway through a conversation on Wolves' chances of promotion this season, Nick (who, bear in mind, is 6ft 8in and not exactly skinny) darted a full five yards to the other side of the fire, something squeaked and he strolled over with a young rabbit lying limply in his hands.

He then, by way of a demonstration, tugged at its backside with his thumbs, skinning the beast in a matter of seconds. In your face, Ray Mears!


Reg Pither said...

Fuckin' 'Ell!! You'll be painting your face with wode next! He's gone...we've lost him. "The court heard how baby-eating Devil worshipper Malc used to pat little puppies on the head and be kind to old ladies while on the mainland."

Frith said...

OK, so I started at the beginning and am loving the blog. But this is the first entry that's moved me to comment - the thumbs-in-behind thing is just too funny. Not for the bunny of course, but you know, from a distance...