Listening to: Just When You're Thinking Things Over (The Charlatans)
Drinking: Brazilian lager
Just discovered: Shetland Soap Company hand cream (bliss!)
Pub?: Nope, quiet night in.
I heard a 'clunk' behind me as I walked towards the freight office at Stromness harbour and turned back to see my small, but perfectly formed Ifor Williams trailer at a 45 degree angle.
And everything had been going so smoothly.
The two Saddleback sows Molly and Kim were dropped off at Scrabster ferry terminal and seemed none the worse for the trip across the Pentland Firth and past the Old Man of Hoy to Orkney, in fact they seemed fast asleep when they were brought onto the quayside.
Presumably they woke up as I went to sign the forms and shifted their weight to the back of the single axle trailer, tipping it backwards onto the rear rim.
I hurried back and, with a little help from the stevedores, hitched the trailer to Sal's car and checked the pigs were OK. They seemed completely unworried.
That was about as exciting as things got as, just for once, everything went to plan, kicking off with the rain and wind dying down and glorious sunshine emerging for my flight from Westray to Kirkwall, right up to the point where the sows were unloaded back at home.
My neighbour Marcus had dashed away from a calving to help me unload, while Mr D and Mr Hotel Proprietor were also in attendance should crowd control become an issue.
It wasn't. Molly emerged first, strolling after the feed bucket that I had to keep putting under her nose to remind her where it was (Saddlebacks' vision is impaired by their floppy ears). Kim followed, even more slowly, but in about 10 minutes they were in the pen I'd spent a week preparing for them.
First reaction? Chuffing heck, they're bloody enormous. Kim, the three-year-old, stands almost waist height and is a good 6ft long and must weigh in at around 400 pounds. Molly is maybe a foot shorter and is considerably lighter, but she's still an impressive animal. Eric and Ernie are tiny by comparison.
Both are clearly in pig (pregnant), with Molly's bulge quite pronounced (she's due to farrow on April 8, a week before Kim).
Kim is obviously the boss. She gets best spot on the bed and first go at the feed trough. I unwisely got between them today when Kim snapped at Molly and caught my hand. For a moment I had visions of becoming the Abu Hamsa of pig farming.
I'll get around food fights by putting two-thirds of the feed in the trough, waiting a minute then guiding Molly to another part of the pen where I leave the rest, so one way or another she gets her share. As soon as I've built the second pen, she'll have her own space.
I've signed up with the British Saddleback Breeders Club, which officially makes ours the most northerly herd (if two can be called a herd) of Saddlebacks in the UK. Just watch some Shetlander spoil that for me.
* I read through the movement licence (all pigs have to have one for each trip they make) for the sows today and was particularly taken with paragraph 'd'.
"No cattle, sheep, goats or other ruminating animals or elephants have been moved onto the premises. . . since 21-02-08 except in accordance etc. . . ."
Elephants? Now that's what I call diversifying.