Listening to: Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers (ZZ Top)
Pig shelter update: nearly done
Birds: half-a-dozen Fulmars gliding three or four feet above our heads
One of Malc's fundamental rules of Rugby Union is "avoid at all costs any player who looks like a folk singer".
Don't be fooled by the beard, 'comfortable' stomach and jolly demeanour. I don't care if he has a nice collection of Aran jumpers, Mr Folk Singer will be a psychopath - I absolutely guarantee it and have had the cuts and bruises to prove it.
I feared the worst for Westray's brave lads as they lined up for a fixture against what was casually termed an 'Isles Select XV' on Saturday. The visiting captain had thick greying hair, an equally impressive beard and he looked ready to whip out a mandolin at the slightest provocation.
He was also built on the generous side - and he wasn't alone. Six or seven of the visitors looked as if they had spent a lifetime muscling in at the front of the dinner queue. Westray's players looked underfed by comparison - maybe a stone a man worse off, but strange things can happen when you're as keen as Colman's and the expected thrashing failed to materialise, Westray coming a narrow second.
I had a pint with the chairman and a couple of others afterwards, explained very patiently - several times - that I was far too old to come out of retirement and that, even in what I laughingly think of as my prime, I wouldn't have been much of an asset. I did, however, talk myself into writing the match report for the local papers.
Considering I have no idea who any of the players are, or what the score was, it could be a challenge - still, won't be the first time.
That was yesterday. Today has been a strange one. The weather continues to be wonderful. Daffodils and crocuses are showing through and will be in flower soon.
Mrs TPF and I took a walk on Mae Sand, arguably Westray's most beautiful beach (the competition is stiff, to say the least). Owen chased stones into the sea, while Spike zoomed from side to side on his extendable lead.
We watched the Fulmars glide overhead, checking us out as we neared their nesting sites. A small flock of turnstones pottered around at the waterline, while oystercatchers squabbled on the rocks.
I cooked a full Sunday dinner and then it was time for Sal to drive down to the ferry. She's over to Kirkwall to start work tomorrow and, while I'm not thrilled about being on my own during the week, it's very much better than her going back to England for months at a time.
I just hope Orkney social services realise how bloody lucky they are to have her.