Listening to: Party Fears Two (Associates - it hasn't dated well)
Drinking: A reviving Bovril
If you caught the weather forecast this morning you will already know that we are in the middle of the first serious storm of the autumn/winter (hard to tell the difference here).
Last night's round-up by the lovely Gail (really) on the North of Scotland weather bulletin consisted of a map with some very, very big arrows on it, the largest sitting right on top of Orkney.
Westray being on the north west fringe of the islands, the weather tends to arrive off the Atlantic here first. So I woke this morning to the sound of 80-90mph gusts hammering the front of the house.
Work outside is obviously impossible, but pigs and hens still have to be tended to so I filled the buckets and forced my way out of the barn.
Eric and Ernie seemed completely unperturbed by the fact there was a howling gale coming through every crack in the ageing and long-neglected shed they call home. While they dived onto the potatoes, barley and weaner pencils, I had a quick look around and noticed that several of the bolts holding the roof panels in place weren't there. The wind hadn't removed them, they just weren't there any more and I hadn't noticed.
So it was that about 20 minutes ago I was up a ladder in a gale with baler twine and heavy duty wire, lashing the panels to the joists underneath. For good measure I lifted a couple of large flagstones onto the loosest panels to hold them in place.
It was, as Clement Atlee said of Gallipoli, an interesting experience, but definitely one to be performed only by complete buffoons with pig farming ambitions.
Got to go, just seen a section of guttering fly past the window.