Listening to: this old chestnut
It's just gone four in the morning and the gale-force south-easterly has been assaulting the house for a couple of hours, looking for weak points.
The rattling of the barn door woke the pig "farmer" around half-two and he lay there for an hour as the wind whistled across the roofs and around the walls, his imagination growing more lurid by the minute.
Having convinced himself that the bonnet on Lennox the Land Rover was about to be ripped off (it's been wonky ever since the 'incident' with the concrete post), he slipped quietly out of bed, trying not to wake Mrs Pig "Farmer", softly exited the caravan and made his way into the house (house and barn are attached).
In the kitchen, the dogs gave him a kind of 'what time do you call this?' look as he put the kettle on, threw a few bits of wood onto the still-smouldering fire to get it going again, dressed, grabbed torch and went outside.
Lennox's bonnet was in place, the hen house (an old garden shed) intact, pigs asleep, all roofs where they should be - everything was tickety-boo.
So now I'm filling the time before daylight, eating toast, drinking tea, being given dirty looks by the dogs.
I don't think I'll ever get used to these winter gales.