Listening to: Sir Terry Pratchett's* Wyrd Sisters on Radio 7
Bomb, jihad, aeroplane: just keeping the security services on their toes
Smelling: matt emulsion (Mrs Pig "Farmer" is painting again)
Gin: tonic and lime
I'm not in the habit of using this blog to gush about how proud I am of my family, but this is worth making an exception.
My stepdaughter Amy is 24 and has been staying with us for a few months since she quit her last job as yard manager at a stables in Essex. She quickly realised a small island off the north coast of Scotland is hardly the most exciting place for anyone under the age of 35 and started searching for a job (her and hundreds of others).
She thought she'd found the perfect spot at a stables 'somewhere in Scotland' and agreed to travel south for a long weekend so she and they could size each other up.
First morning she saw the three lads who worked with the horses beating the animals with large whips for the slightest misdemeanours. She went to speak to the owner who seemed unworried. In fact she said that if a horse misbehaved it was OK to hit it (we're not talking about a smart smack on the rump here).
Coward that I am, I would probably have kept quiet, seen out the weekend and slunk away afterwards, saving my disapproval for muttered conversations in private.
Amy immediately said she was leaving, packed her bags and got in a taxi to the station. Brilliant! It will more than likely make no difference, but she challenged what she felt was unacceptable behaviour and I'm proud as hell of her.
She got her reward. Waiting for the train back to Glasgow, she received a call from a yard at Alford, about 25 miles to the west of Aberdeen. Could she come for a few days to see about a job? Of course she could. She's there now and already thinks it's lovely. Fate.
* It's taken hundreds of years, but the honours system finally handed out a gong to someone who deserved it. Now can we stop?