Listening to: Going to California (Led Zeppelin)
Weather: lots of it
Pigs' breakfast: soaked barley, weaner pencils
My breakfast: similar, now I come to think of it
Since moving to Orkney, I've developed a real talent for breaking things. This can be a good thing. The big, concrete (redundant) water tank at the back of the house is now a pile of rubble, a sort of mini-Stalingrad, only without the rotting corpses and the clash of inhuman ideologies.
But, more often than not it works against me. Lennox the Land Rover has been passenger-proof for a couple of weeks now, all bar the driver and rear doors having jammed shut.
The washing machine has waved the white flag after nearly ten years service. It still works, but you have to coax the dial thingy round so it takes about four hours to do my boxers and socks.
The kettle is close to, as PG Wodehouse would say, handing in it's dinner pail. I actually have to hold it in place to make sure it keeps the connection.
The portable TV/video combi is playing up, my collection of spaghetti westerns and Wolves' finest moments (no laughing at the back) now being played out in a blizzard. Is that a cigar Clint or are you chewing on a piece of whale blubber? And the half the buttons on the remote control don't work.
I've even managed to cock up the display on this computer. It's about three times too big, so I spend most of my time scrolling.
I snapped my credit card, thinking it was out of date. It wasn't. My mobile phone appears to be full of soil and I've managed to break no less than four buckets in the last three weeks.
I can't draw any proper conclusions from all this, save that I may just, possibly, be a useless buffoon.
The good news is that the animals are all in rude health. The dogs enjoyed trying to chase some seals yesterday afternoon before realising they were in about 6ft of water, the hens are clucking happily, having a good laugh at their egg-less owner, while Eric and Ernie seem to grow by the hour, let alone the day.