Sunday, 21 December 2008
Guess who's coming to dinner?
I was feeling quite pleased with myself. We'd managed to deal with a couple of wind-related crises, Tommy Ramone (having met a quick and quiet end) was butchered and I had already trousered some of The Bank of Scotland's crispest as a result.
Work on the kitchen had made great advances during the week, Mrs Pig "Farmer" was set to make a weather-delayed return to the island to start her Christmas holliers - yep, I was in a good mood.
I'd been to the village and returned to find the front door and kitchen door wide open - not a good idea in a howling gale, I'm sure you'll agree.
Spike was hovering about, looking very worried and not a little confused. There was a disturbance at the other end of the kitchen and I was a bit surprised to see Molly the sow tucking into the veg peelings bucket.
My stepdaughter Amy responded to my pitiful plea for help and between us we ushered Moll back to the pigshed where she'd previously shifted the barrier (a telegraph pole, pallet and two sheep hurdles strapped together) and wandered through the door the pig "farmer" had carelessly left open.
Straw and feed was distributed liberally, the pig "farmer" screwed in a few more pieces of wood to secure the barrier before collapsing into a chair.
I bloody hate windy days.