Listening to: Clash of the Ash (Runrig)
Don't recall: wishing my readership a happy New Year
So: Happy New Year to you both
I'm in the kitchen at my Dad's old desk, eyeing up the last bottle of Christmas booze.
It's a bottle of Churchwards Original Cider, all the way from. . . hang on, let's have a look at the bottle. . . Tiverton in Devon. Seems to be the real McCoy. It says here there are no additives or sweeteners so that's good too.
I've opened it.
Bottoms up. . .
Not bad at all.
It's been another tough old Christmas/Hogmanay here at the pig "farm". Unlike last year when Mrs P"F" and meself were on our own, we've had three of our six offspring, father-in-law Ray, brother-in-law Alan and sister-in-law Marie here at various spells over the last fortnight.
A certain amount of stamina has been required (my hangover on Jan 1 was something of a classic), but Sal - a Premier League class haver-of-a-good-time - has been up to the task.
I have drunk several times my bodyweight in a very nice Czech lager I bought at the island's knitwear shop (of course - where else would I buy Czech lager?), while Sal has conjured interesting beers, wines and ciders from all over the place - the last of which I'm drinking now.
There's always a price to pay and, as I look down, my feet are not as obvious as they were in November. Abstention and the mixing and laying of concrete are on the agenda.
I'm not the only podge about the place. The gilts (young female pigs) Sock and Little Kim (pictured in the header) have moved into new quarters and are on a regime.
Little Kim, in particular, has developed the pig equivalent of a muffin top (when a spare tyre shows on the hams when seen from behind). I've cut her feed by 1lb a day, but may have to resort to the assault course if that doesn't work.
Ideas, sensible or otherwise, appreciated.