The Simple Woman's Daybook - August

Outside my window: It's starting to get dark and it's only 7.45pm.  Boo hoo!

I am thinking: I wish I hadn't told Mr O I would reduce my crafting budget.  It's nearly killing me to spend such a small amount on craft stuff each month.  Oh well, everything comes to him (or her) who waits...

I am thankful for:  the fact that Barnaby is well and fully recovered from his injury.  In fact, judging from his energy levels today, I'd say somebody's feeding him when my back is turned!

From the learning rooms: practising with a distressing tool to see how to get the effect on card.  It's lovely, and really easy to use.

I am wearing: my lovely grey cardigan.  It is so cosy and bobbley and comforting.  I wear it indoors all the time.  It is my noo noo.

I am reading: 'Love In A Cold Climate' by Nancy Mitford.  I have waited all my life to read these books as they obviously went out of fashion for many years.  If you want to know a bit more about this extraordinary woman, read this.  I am only half way through but am thoroughly enjoying it.  It's very witty, things like this:
'...Lady Montdore loved anybody royal.  It was a genuine emotion, quite disinterested, since she loved them as much in exile as in power, and the act of curtsying was the consummation of this love.  Her curtsies, owing to the solid quality of her frame, did not recall the graceful movement of wheat before the wind.  She scrambled down like a camel, rising again backside foremost like a cow, a strange performance, painful it might be supposed to the performer, the expression on whose face, however, belied this thought.  Her knees cracked like revolver shots but her smile was heavenly...'    I'm afraid I found myself cackling at the thought!

I am hoping/praying: for poor Mr O who is still ill.  He gets the results of his blood tests this coming Wednesday.  Something is obviously wrong, and we need to get to the bottom of it.

On my mind: Our cockerel George has sadly died.  He was quite ill last week, then I found him on Monday morning.  Poor boy.  I don't know what was wrong with him.  I don't think it's red mite as all the other chickens are fine.  I really miss him.  How silly, to be attached to a bird like that.

I am creating: cards, of course!  Commissions are like buses - you don't see any for ages, and then suddenly you get three at once.  A wedding card for Priscilla to send to Hong Kong, and a card for a friend's sister and her son.  Plus my own son next week, so I'm not idle!

I am hearing: Stephen Fry narrating a wildlife documentary.

From the kitchen:  I made a strawberry cheesecake yesterday.  It was low-fat (a Slimming World recipe) and absolutely delicious.  I used leaf gelatine for the first time in my life - fascinating stuff. 

Noticing that: the creative side of me is becoming quite dominant.  I am having 4-5 hours sleep a night as I lay there with card making ideas running through my head.  I am seeing 'design' everywhere, especially in one particular cinema advert.  I don't know how else to describe it.  I see things in terms of pattern and colour and whether things go together or not.  This is a completely new experience for me.  It's a bit mad but I'm thoroughly enjoying it!

Around the house: I am bracing myself for removing every single book from the book case, dusting them and putting them all back again.  Thank goodness for libraries.

One of my favourite things:

I don't use a diary, I use a journal, and everything is written in it, from my inspirations to shopping lists. I was thrilled to find this  Cath Kidston version in Waterstones, and even more thrilled that Mr O was willing to buy it for me!
This is one of the inside pages, but some are different:

How can I fail to be inspired, writing in a book like that?!
A scripture thought: 

 'If the Lord delights in a man's way, he makes his steps firm;

 though he stumble, he will not fall,

for the Lord upholds him with his hand.' 

Psalm 37: 23-24

A few plans for the rest of the week:  A pleasure ride round Bonsall Moor tomorrow.  It's just over 10 miles which will be a doddle for the boys at the moment.  I just hope Zak travels well. 

A picture thought:  I walk round the corner, and this is the view that greets me:

Even on a misty day, it never fails to take my breath away.

A Reprieve

The days are busy, but damp, foggy and miserable. I was quite glad to see the back of February but today has been just the same. We have driven to the location of the show jumping competition tomorrow as it's a new venue for us. I am sick with nerves and it's not even me doing it! I will be unpaid groom for the day. I'll let you know how we get on.
I have finally got my mojo back on the card-making front. I realised my mistake. I'd packed all my card magazines into a trunk, just to be tidy, but then we bought a new (fabulous) printer and put it on top of the trunk. Without my magazines for inspiration I found it very difficult to get anything made. Anyway, I found some vellum in a drawer that I must have had for a year and finally put it to good use.
See what you think:
I love the feel of vellum, I could play with it all day. Have a look at this one:

On another subject, you may remember that we hatched quite a few chicks last year, which have all grown up. Unfortunately, the cockerels have been 'excess to requirements' and treated accordingly. The youngest babies have grown up too, and one of them has also turned out to be male. We put him into solitary, pending an enquiry, but last week we rode past a farm and counted not one, not two, but four cockerels, all with a few hens each and all seemingly living quite amicably together. We've decided that the cockerel can come out and go back to his harem. His girls seem to have really missed him and George doesn't seem too bothered. I have named this cockerel Charlie (actually after Charles I, due to his impending fate!) and he's very handsome. Unfortunately he didn't make it to this photo call, but I hope you like it:

George and his women.

Some of the younger hens are starting to lay eggs. They are absolutely tiny. Sometimes they don't make it to the nesting box and I keep finding eggs all over the place. We've ended up with twenty chickens altogether. Not bad considering we started off with six.

Putting The Boot In

I've had a phenomenally busy few days. In case you're wondering, we managed to do the deed on Sunday morning. It wasn't pleasant. At first I thought I was going to be sick, but after a couple of minutes it just seemed like biology in school. The method prescribed wasn't entirely successful, and Mr O thinks he might do it slightly differently next time, but by six o'clock we had our first chicken in the oven. I watched Macbeth Sunday evening. Never have Lady Macbeth and I had so much in common.
To be fair, I plucked my first pheasant when I was seven and have never disliked it. We had a friend in Worksop that shoots and used to give us birds nearly every week. We became very proficient at plucking and drawing, but I have never actually dispatched the bird myself.
Grace has walked around for the last couple of days feeling a bit out of sorts, missing her three brothers. At first she went around with Peggy and her six babies, but I noticed today she is with Roxy and Margery, the grown up chickens. She has obviously decided it's time to learn how to be a lady hen after all.
You may have heard of a brand of welly boots called Hunters. They are the Rolls Royce of wellington boots. I have had mine for some years, and the pair before that I had for fifteen years. But recently they've developed a hole in the sole which lets water in. This is not nice, especially if you're walking in a muddy field. I have had the experience, at our previous yard, of getting totally stuck and my foot flying out and landing in the mud, sock and all. It was freezing cold and I could feel the mud oozing between my toes. Unfortunately Mr O was there to witness this and laughed like a drain. I had to pull the boot out and limp back to the yard as there was no way I could put my foot back in the boot after that.
Anyway, back to said hole in footwear. About six weeks ago I went to Tesco (after much sole searching!) and bought a very sweet pair of pink stripy wellies. I returned home with high expectations and a dash of rural femininity.
Obviously I wear wellies seven days a week. Imagine my surprise this morning when I put Barnaby into the field and felt a sudden cold sensation on the back of my leg. I had waterproof trousers on, too, so couldn't understand it. I got back to the stables, examined the boots, and to my dismay found a split right up the back of the left boot. Disaster!
For the rest of the day I had to wear my Hunters with the hole in and came in at lunch time with one black sock - yuk!
In the meantime I'd phoned Mr O to explain the situation. He said he'd go to CWG, our local farm shop and see what they had. I sat in fear and dread that he would bring me some very masculine boots with a steel toecap, or even worse, a pair of white wellies that he's bought for one of the lads at work this week (I'd rather drink wasp spit than wear a pair like that).
So imagine my surprise when he walked in and produced a huge box, out of which appeared the most gorgeous pair of wellies I've seen in some years. They are made by Aigle (French) and fit beautifully. They look very well made, too, which they'll need to be. Some wellies are made for walking the dog in the park, and some are made for wading through mud, aren't they? Clearly these are in the latter catagory, and I hope I get many years wear out of them.
I actually rode Barnaby on Sunday afternoon, which was wonderful. Very much business as usual after two weeks of snow. Now unfortunately we are forecast snow again on Thursday. We are supposed to be going to a party that night. Pleeeeese don't let it snow. I am wearing a very thin dress and high heels - possibly another side-splitting moment for Mr O, then?

The Ice Man Cometh

Yes indeed, we have post! I am thrilled because:
My papers have finally arrived from America. They are beautiful and well worth waiting for.
My December stamps have come from Little Claire Designs. They are little elephants and very, very sweet. I can't wait to start using those.
My pack of envelopes has come, so I don't have to panic about not being able to make square cards.
Crisis over then. Still no photo for Mr O, though. It's been nearly a month. We've decided to wait until Monday and if it hasn't arrived by then, he'll be contacting them.
Now if only the dustmen would come...
This morning I have woken up and there are patches of solid ground visible in the snow, patches of black and green, and unfortunately lots and lots of dog poo. We won't go there. There is supposed to be a thaw over the weekend, but it's supposed to go down again next week, which is going to be very, very depressing!
Barnaby is, strangely, being an absolute sweetheart while this bad weather is going on. It reminds me so much of when he was on box-rest because of the broken pedal bone. He got a bit stir crazy and used to help Mr O muck out at night. I am making sure I groom him every day, and he absolutely loves it. He has increased his actual 'scratch me' time to twenty minutes. He just loves that time with his rug off, to let his skin cool. I am his only opportunity to mutually groom. Have you ever been goosed by a horse?
He has also started doing something he used to do with Mr O, but has never done it since we've been here. He walks down to the field carrying his own leadrope in his teeth. It's very sweet. And the biggest thing was that when we came back from shopping on Saturday, he did his deep whinny as soon as he saw me. Mr O had already gone in and he didn't do it to him, he did it to me. My heart absolutely leapt. Pathetic, I know.
I tie him up before I go in to his stable and he does what I call wiffleing (I just had the big decision there of how to spell a made-up word!) He wiggles his muzzle over the leadrope and undoes it. I really don't know how it works. He can also wiffle on your jacket pocket when he wants a mint. So it occured to me, that that makes me Wiffler's Mother, doesn't it? (Snigger!)

Here comes a bit, that isn't for the faint-hearted (or vegetarians). If you are either of those, or both, you may want to wander off and come back tomorrow, and not read any further, although if you didn't blanch at the dog poo comment, you can't be too feeble!
As you know, we have chickens. And this year, they have hatched quite a few eggs. It turns out that chickens hatch 60% males. You only need one cockerel and his name is George. Unfortunately, three of the four chicks Penny had in her first batch have grown up to be fine, handsome cockerels, too. This presents a problem, because they are beginning to do what healthy cockerels do best (and it isn't eating!)
Missis has tried to source someone who might come and take these chaps off our hands, but we can't find anyone locally who can 'do the deed', so Mr O has bravely volunteered. Obviously we weren't entirely sure how to go about it, but last weekend we watched a video of a man who did it in a very calm and humane way, so we have decided this Saturday will be the time to do it. I've debated about putting this on my blog, but the whole point of it is to catalogue our experiences while we're here, and this will definitely be one of them. I'm just so sorry I've named one of them Arthur.
So think of us on Saturday evening while you're enjoying yourself at the cinema or a Christmas party...

It's All Good...

...but it's also freezing cold. We seem to have escaped the snow so far, though. For the past two days the ducks have come out of their coop (if that's the correct term) run to the pond, assessed the situation, and run straight back to the coop. They stand there muttering to themselves about the injustices in the world and where the next meal is coming from. This morning I realised they are actually thirsty and filled a washing up bowl full of water for them. They looked at me gratefully and tucked in.
Water seems to be the thing, actually, as everywhere is frozen. I noticed Lindy looking glumly into the trough. I went up with the largest hammer I could find, and smashed a hole in the ice. Barnaby appeared instantly, pushed Lindy to one side and began slurping through the hole. He drank for ages before submitting to Zak. Next was Hugo, then finally Lindy, by now a bit disgruntled that he'd actually been the one to point out the situation, but the last to be served.
Penny has been out of confinement with her nine babies for the last couple of weeks, as we were worried she was suffering from a lack of daylight. She reminds me so much of 'The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe...' She immediately abandoned her babies and went for a dustbath in the plant pot. Little chicks were cheeping in distress, but she just slammed the bathroom door in their faces. Mind you, if I'd spent a month in a rabbit hutch with nine babies, I'd probably want some 'me' time, too.
You have no idea how difficult it is to muck out two stables with 17 chickens in it....
Fortunately Barnaby seems to be recovering. He's actually worked every day this week, and the swelling is reducing. I asked Mr O to hack him out on Wednesday. I don't know what he did, but Bard was very calm for our hack yesterday, and impeccably behaved when I lunged him today (apart from the girly squeal at the beginning). I am so relieved he is okay.
I am wading through the cardmaking, but I am really enjoying it now. I've made two for some boys, which I'm also going to be using for my grandsons this year. I realised I am suffering from a lack of decoupage in my life, so I made this:
I love these little ticket sentiments. They are so original.
Now I can tell you that of all the cards I've made, this is my favourite Christmas card this year, not because I've made it, but because I love the stamps, the colour scheme and the simplicity of it. Again I've used the ticket sentiment stamps. I just love them.

I am a bit frustrated because I ordered some papers from an American company (which will deliberately remain nameless) which are taking absolute ages to arrive. I specifically wanted the 6"x6" size, which I couldn't get in the UK, so I ordered them from America and they haven't come. They are so beautiful, I'm dying to use them but I can't. Do I order the 8x8 size and start using it, and put the 6x6 away when they eventually arrive, to use next year? I'm not complaining about the company, I'm just champing at the bit to use these papers, and fed up with hanging round the post box all day like a disappointed bloodhound. What would you do?

Of course the plan is to go showjumping on Sunday, but I'm not building my hopes up, as I'm sure it'll be snowing here by then, and Mr O and I agree there's no way we're taking the lorry out with snow on the road.

Have a good weekend, everyone, and for goodness sake, wrap up warm!

Mrs O.

Transformation

It's been a busy week here. Mr O has been helping Pongo lay hardcore between the two barns. This is our route from the stables to the field. During the summer it's rock hard and dry but you only need a drop of rain and it turns to thick mud over night - not funny when you're trying to lead horses along it, trying to stay upright and not get splashed by the horse's hooves.
The first job, though, was to move the muck heap, which took nearly two days, loading everything into a trailer and dropping it off at a local farm. The space looks huge without it. There is usually a burning pile next to the muck heap, which has also been shifted. The new muck heap will be at the back of the barn, so not visible to the road and not the first thing that visitors see.
So now the area looks like this:


Pongo has been shovelling loads of hardcore with the JCB and Mr O has been flattening it with the roller. Today they've been putting on road planings, and it looks fantastic. The chickens are totally confused though, because there isn't a blade of grass to be seen in their usual landscape. They look a bit as if they've landed on the moon. We need to open the brown door onto the field and let them go out that way to find the new muck heap, silly things.
There's no danger of chickens taking over the world, though, is there? George gets amorous with Betty, so she runs behind him and he can't find her. He looks to right and left - no chicken. He looks momentarily baffled, but shrugs his shoulders and carries on with his day, bless him. I wink at Betty, and she nods at me, and all is well with the world.
I just thought I'd show you this:

This is Purdy, snuggling up in Zak's travel boots (which shouldn't be there, obviously). Does this make her Puss in Boots? Oh well, worth a try.
I've made a couple of cards.

You wouldn't believe the problems I had making what looks like such a simple card. I know I'm slightly under the weather but I shouldn't be let loose with crafting items when I'm feeling a bit non compos mentis. Even though I had instructions to follow I couldn't think which way to fold the card, then measured it wrong so I hadn't folded it back far enough, which is why the little blue border is on the left hand side, but actually it worked out really well in the end. And after all that I was flicking through a catalogue and found some ready-folded cards for sale - D'oh!
My stamps finally came from Little Claire's Designs. I rushed to my desk and instantly began stamping. All of the kit to make this card is provided, plus a gallery with instructions to make a few others. I'm sure you can see the owls on the top of the gate, but near the bottom on the right, is a little family of mice. It's very cute. It comes with the stamp saying, "Happy Christmas from all of us." It's making me desperate for a Sizzix machine, which I can't have until Christmas, because I'm desperate to make some more circles.


The best thing about this was that I had all the Promarkers I needed ready and waiting for me to spring into action, which was wonderful.
I'm also not going to do this next year, though (making Christmas cards so early, I mean). I'm going to make a couple of Christmas cards every week, and not make any to sell, they'll just be for family and friends, but equipped with my Sizzix and an embossing gun, there'll be no stopping me. I feel as if I've missed the opportunity to make some autumn cards, which is my favourite season. I think I'll rectify the situation this week, if I get time.
I've also obviously realised that I am coming up to my first anniversary of blogging, plus I was waiting to see when I'd get to 50 followers (and now I'm on 52!) I'm also getting close to my 200th post, so I'll put them all together and organise a giveaway some time soon, to celebrate, so watch this space.

Pleasure Ride - Cossall

We are having some good days. We've put the showjumps up in the field over the road and Mr O has been going over regularly to jump them. I plucked up the courage to have a go yesterday. I put Mr O on Barnaby first, as when I jump him in the manege he gets very strong (Barnaby, that is, not Mr O!) but to my surprise he was very relaxed about the whole thing, so in the end Mr O got off and I got on and popped a few fences. I was surprised at how relaxed he was, he didn't try to tank me at all. He is a very honest horse, he doesn't really run out, you've just got to be confident and sit tight. I could have done with my stirrups up one more hole, but apart from that it was fine. I need to do it again sooner rather than later. It was lovely to be having a go though, I haven't jumped anything for ages.
Mr O then got on Zak and took him round. He is really improving. Mr O used to jump in what's called a 'hunting seat' where you sit very upright as you go over the fence. This was all very well on Barnaby, but on Zak he looks as though he's going to roll off the back of him. The other night I explained more about the jumping position and got Mr O to do it going round the field. He said the penny dropped and he didn't realise you had to do it like that (bum out of the saddle as you go over the fence). He's been riding for five years. You have to wonder, sometimes, don't you?
I've had a fab time today on a twelve mile pleasure ride around Cossall which is fairly near Nottingham, but very rural. Barnaby was quite slow to start, but the further we went the fitter he seemed to get. There were a few good canter sections which they really enjoyed. I've been feeling a bit rough, as though I'm coming down with a cold, but was fine all the way round.
At one point we rode under the motorway, which wasn't too bad, but further on we had to ride on a bridge going over the motorway. As the horses set foot on the bridge a car going underneath had a blow-out. The bang was absolutely phenomenal, but Barnaby didn't flinch and just continued to walk over the bridge. I am very proud of him.
Having said that, though, we walked along the old canal path for quite a way, and as we walked through the gate at the end, he managed to whack my knee on the gatepost. I haven't had that done to me for some years. Thanks, Bard! I have a bruise and it's taken loads of the skin off, but it doesn't hurt now, thank goodness.
And the thing I'm most pleased to tell you: Do you remember a few weeks ago we found Henny Penny sitting on a pile of eggs in amongst the junk in a spare stable? We put her in solitary where she sat quite happily, turning her eggs reglarly. When we put her to bed on Monday night we realised she was talking to her eggs, in encouraging tones. Sure enough, on Monday, she had a chick with her. I took out the broken egg shell and left her to it.
By Wednesday morning, she had four chicks. I remembered that the chicks need to eat chick crumb so threw her feed away and topped it up with chickfeed.
The next morning I came out to check on her, and to my astonishment, counted nine babies running about. It was like shopping in Mothercare, children scattering in all directions, and Penny in the middle of them, trying to keep control. She was trying to give them a health and safety lecture, but none of them were taking a blind bit of notice. They all look well, anyway, and she's as pleased as punch, really, bless her. They are all yellow and grey and smaller than sparrows at the moment, but if one of her previous daughters is anything to go by, they'll end up being pretty big. Well done, Penny, I'm so pleased for you.
I am making Christmas cards as fast as I can but haven't really been inspired until recently. I'll show you some as soon as I can.
Oh, and I am loving The Time Traveler's Wife, it's extremely good.

Chickens, Chickens, Everywhere

Somewhere down the line we seem to have turned into a poultry unit. My first job of the day is to open the shutters on the big barn and let the ducks out. They start quacking the minute I put my key in the door. I let them out of their pen and they come waddling out, greeting me with big smiles and flapping wings. They run, or flap, straight down to the pond and we don't really hear from them again until tea time, unless we go into the manege, which is right next to the pond, in which case, they come and watch me ride, which is very sweet.
Next I let out The Ladies Who Lunch. George now has a separate hutch to himself, as he tries to go in with the LWL at night and doesn't let Roxy in. She is looking a little henpecked, to be honest. They like to be in in time to watch The One Show and seem a bit disgruntled that he gets in there first and takes up all the room on the sofa.
So the LWL come out and I throw some corn down for them. George can see this quite clearly from his cage and starts rattling the bars, because 1) his harem are eating in front of him, and 2) they are getting away. I give the girls a head start and then let him out. I shout, "Brace yourselves girls!" and open the door of George's hutch. He swaggers out, shirt unbuttoned to the waist, medallion glinting in the sunlight. He faces that age old dilemma, 'Breakfast or sex? Breakfast or sex?' But the girls have had a head start and have raced away towards the stables. Breakfast it is then, George. I highly recommend the corn.
Next I go and let the Chickstix out. These are Penny and Peggy's babies, who now cohabit in the big chicken pen. George lets out an almighty crow, that rents the air, and one of the babies valiantly tries to copy him, but it's more of a strangulated squawk, really, you know, like Simba practising his roar. I don't think George has anything to worry about just yet.
In the last week or so, we've let the Chickstix out to take their chance with the older chickens and everybody seems to be getting on splendidly, which is very unusual. The fighting could break out at any day, but I think Peggy has informed everyone that these are her precious babies, and if anyone starts on them, she'll peck their eyes out. (She's the one who sharpens her beak on the paving slabs, you don't mess with her).
Finally, I let Penny out, who is broody once again. We wondered why there were so few eggs in the coop at night, until one night Penny went AWOL. We spent an hour calling and searching for her and were about to give up hope when Mr O found her nestled in a pile of junk in one of the spare stables, looking smug and sitting on no less than sixteen eggs. We scooped her up and put her and her clutch in one of the broody pens, where she sits contentedly waiting for something to happen. I've no idea if anything will this time, but surely out of sixteen eggs, at least one of them should hatch? And could it not be a cockerel this time, please, we've enough of those as it is.
In the evenings the procedure is reversed. I stand by the barn and call the ducks and they come in for tea. Everyone's a bit amazed by this. Missis tries calling them and they don't take any notice. I don't know why they do it for me, but they do seem to recognise my voice and come to me. Son 2 was amazed when I did it last night. As we approached the pond, there wasn't a duck in sight. I started calling, "Duckies, come on!" and one by one their little heads appeared and they started waddling towards me. For some reason, I find it deeply satisfying. I am not a dog whisperer or a horse whisperer, but I do seem to have attained the rank of duck whisperer. Ah well...

Horsing Around

I've been a bit busy, and I'm popping off as soon as I've written this, as I've quite a bit still to do.
But first things, first.
You may recall that when Peggy the chicken flaunted her new family in front of Penny, Penny got her own back by standing up and revealing that she too, was 'in the family way.' On Thursday morning I let Peggy out for her usual morning constitutional, and as usual, she began strutting up and down outside Penny's hutch. Penny began to rise laboriously to her feet, and I thought, 'Oh, I know what's coming,' and sure enough, out popped her new chick. Then, to my astonishment, another chick fell out from under her other wing. The egg that she was left with obviously hatched out in the middle of the night, and she's looked after it and helped it all by herself. I am absolutely delighted. I will take a photo of them as soon as I can, but they scuttle under mum as soon as anyone approaches. They are very sweet, though, one is yellow and the other one is grey. Penny's eyes are as bright as jewels and her pride in her new clutch is blatantly evident. Good on you, girl, I'm so proud.
I spent the whole of yesterday in Worksop. I had to go up with Mr O in the morning, so got up at silly o'clock, sipped some tea and got straight in the car. Mr O dropped me off at The Cafe where I took my cards in. I must tell you that when I rang up and spoke to the manageress, and said I was going to give them some of my cards to sell, she said, "And what do you want us to do for you?" I said, "No, I don't want any money for them, I'm donating them, so you can sell them," and she was astonished.
So she was really pleased to see me when I dropped them off. They'd arranged a space for them on the table with the books. She asked me how much I thought they ought to sell them for, so I said a pound each, as it's an easy coin for customers to hand over. I said not to worry if they didn't sell, and she said, "Oh, they'll sell!" I was really surprised, but pleased. It is a strange feeling, handing over my creations to someone else, and knowing I won't see them again. Is that how an artist feels when she hands over a painting to be sold? As if you're giving part of yourself away. But then, doesn't an artist then have the satisfaction of knowing that her creation will be hanging on someone's sitting room wall soon, which makes it all worthwhile? Who knows?
I went up to Costa Coffee and had a latte, then spent some time going through my favourite charity shops. I was thrilled to find two John Francome books for 99p each, and then in the Heart Foundation shop, 'Lots of Love' by Fiona Walker. Her books were recommended to me by Frecklepuss recently, so I was very pleased to find one for two pounds. It looks like a really good read, actually, can't wait to get stuck in.
Then I had the wonderful opportunity to spend some time in the library. It's such bliss to spend as long as I like without Mr O breathing down my neck. I found some beautiful, inspirational books on card making and scrapbooking. They make my efforts look positively paltry, but I've got to start somewhere.
Soon it was time to wander up to Daughter 2's house and spend some time with her and The Flower Fairy. She was so chatty, it was lovely to have her to myself for a while. I ended up walking up to nursery with her, which was so sweet. Suddenly I was in the land of the little people. On the way out, a woman came rushing up to me and I realised it was one of the girls who'd helped us fence judge last time we went to the showcross. She told me all about her new mare. I've said I'll come and have a look at her after the next competition.
My next stop was at my old friend Caroline's house. We were good friends when we still lived in Worksop, having been at the same church for several years. Her two children, Heather and Anthony are a similar age to our children. Heather started having riding lessons around the time I first bought Max, and then Caroline started home educating them both, so we had quite a lot in common. Heather's become one of my facebook friends recently, as she has a very pretty little Hafflinger mare called Honey. I've been dying to meet her and never thought I'd have the opportunity.
We had a really good catching up chat, and then set off to their yard. They brought Honey up from her field. She is an absolute sweetheart, probably about 14 hands, maybe 14.1. She reminded me of Crispin a bit, with her gorgeous deep golden coat and flaxen mane. They tacked up and Heather rode. I gave her a bit of a lesson, as she's got into a couple of bad habits (rather similar to my own!) and then they asked if I was going to have a ride. I hadn't intended to at all, and only had jeans and normal boots on, but Anthony gave me a hat, and the next thing I knew, I was in the saddle. She was very sweet, and poodled about with me. She is quite dinky, and I felt as if there was no neck in front of me at all.
While I was riding round, a lad came into the school on his horse, rode it round with its head in the air, and came out two minutes after me. I wonder what the point of that was? It reminded me of all the reasons I'm not on a livery yard any more.
I'm also quite curious as my friend Morag, who used to be at our old yard, is also there. What's happened there, then?
I had a lovely time and have invited them to come to us some time, hopefully in August. Caroline dropped me back at Daughter 2's by which time Mr O had arrived from work so we set off home together (with a huge chunk of wedding cake sitting on my lap!)
The day was rounded off nicely by the sight of a parcel on my kitchen table when we got in. Inside, to my delight, was my Sizzix boutique machine.


Isn't she a cutie?

This is an embossing machine, and it's my free gift for subscribing to Cardmaking and Papercraft magazine. I have had a little play with it this afternoon and can see already that this will take my card making to a new level. Check these out:

This is just me footling around to see how everything works, but I am going to have a lot of fun with this, I can tell.
But as I said, I am very, very busy, making plans for tomorrow. All will be revealed, soon enough.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
Mrs O.

Mother's Pride

I've been a bit down in the dumps and I don't really know why, I think it's a combination of things, e.g. the quad incident, the loss of the chick, and then, primarily that I had a riding lesson again yesterday with Nicky Hunt. It has to be said that Barnaby has improved greatly and is much straighter in himself, which is wonderful. It's just that when I get on him I feel like my riding is really bad. I have, without doubt, picked up some bad habits from riding Max for six years, but my one bugbear is that I still can't keep my legs still when I trot, and I've been working on it for a year. The trouble now is that people think I'm continually legging the horse on, but actually I'm trying frantically to keep my legs still and nothing works.
I have also seen several pictures of myself where my toes are turned out. I know why this is, though, and that I keep on riding with my heel, so I'm working on keeping my toes turned in, but it hurts! I've also had the feeling that in order to make Max move, especially on a circle, I must tap him with my ankle, so I keep on lifting my heels up when I ride. I've seen myself doing this, too, and am trying to train myself out of it, and to use my calf muscles instead, and again, this relies on me keeping my toes in. I'll be walking like a bowlegged chicken before you know it. You'll recognise me in Chesterfield High Street, anyway.
Mr O said I had a 'very defeatist attitude' and proceeded to depress me even more by telling me how well he rides. Well, that's nice. I resisted the temptation to tell him that it's his fault Barnaby is in such a state, because that won't achieve anything, will it?
But it is far from all bad, and I am determined to look on the bright side. The best thing is that after losing the little chick in the morning, one of the ones in the incubator hatched out at tea time. I quickly scooped it up and ran outside with it and popped it underneath Penny. She looked mildly surprised, but tucked the little thing underneath her and started cooing at it. I went out again an hour later and managed to hoist her skirts up and peek at the little thing and it had dried out and was cheeping, which I took to be a good sign. Penny pecked at me mercilessly.
I've been out this morning and let Peggy and her babies out for their morning exercise. Peggy began parading outside Penny's hutch, as usual, when Penny drew herself up to her full height (rather than her usual convincing impression of a whopee cushion) and her little baby plopped out from underneath her and began cheeping. Penny wore a smug, "In your face!" expression and continued cooing to the love of her life.
Peggy was distraught and began pecking at the cage. "I am the only mother here!" but her babies were jumping up and down, trying to get a better view of their new cousin. One of them even jumped on Peggy's back to have a better look, but Peggy shook it off and stalked away. Penny just smiled contentedly to herself, and so did I.
I took Barnaby out for a hack this morning, and now all is well with the world. It must be quite confusing for him, as he is now mine, but it's not like he's gone to a new home, is it? His dad is still there in the background, but now taking much more notice of Zak, obviously. He came in with me this morning and I felt that he was totally mine. He has trained me to scratch him in all the right places before I tack him up. Usually it's on his belly and around the top of his front left leg, but today he wanted me to scratch his ears and his top knot. His bottom lip was quivering in ecstasy. I swear to you that if you take the time to do this, he is much more co-operative and agreeable. It's easy to think, 'I don't have time to do this,' but what else have I got besides time? If you take the time he is a doddle to tack up and be ridden.
I have spent some time recently reading some of my old posts about being very nervous about riding Max, and I could hardly believe it was me. I am a million miles from that now, and riding Barnaby is my utmost joy. He is so bold and beautiful, I do wonder what it's like when people see him in the street. There was a man building a stone wall near Jolly Farmer's this morning, who stopped to watch as we went past. Is he thinking, 'Don't that woman's legs jig about when she trots?' I don't think so. The old gentleman further down stopped his conversation to wave at me as I went past. A true horseman, if ever there was. We turned round at the bottom of the lane and steamed home. There's nothing like it for lifting the spirits, is there?
And I've been fine ever since, really.
Last Tuesday I went to my card making class, and didn't really like what we did, as we used 'Dreamweaver' stencils, and I was hopeless at it! I did manage to make a few things to use, like this glitter flower card:



However, I went again last night, and thoroughly enjoyed it. The theme was 'Patchwork' and these are the the two I made. The funny thing is, I am getting the urge to do things with paper, that you would normally do with fabric, and then these came along. The stitching is a stamp, which I will definitely be buying (in August!) as these were really easy to make, and are a brilliant way of using up your scraps.





I am reading 'Love In The Time of Cholera' now, and really enjoying it. It bears no resemblance to the film clips I saw, which is interesting. This means if I get it out on DVD I'd better not inflict it on Mr O. It was bad enough sitting through 'Babel' and 'Revolutionary Road', I don't think we'll survive another pointless melodrama (we have enough of those in real life, without watching them on TV as well!)
And, as everything comes to him who waits, it is, of course, pouring with rain, and I am loving it!
Happy Times!
Mrs O.

Triumph and Disaster

I let the ducks and chickens out this morning and decided to let Penny out as well. There was something next to her, as if it was an extension of her, but when I looked more closely, it was a chick, and it was motionless. I picked it up and it was cold, so I decided to take it indoors and see if I could revive the poor little thing. I spent about half an hour trying to warm it and get it to drink, but in the end it decided it wasn't worth it and gave up. I am so sad for it, and sad for Penny, too. She's not having much luck, is she?

The other bit of bad news is that our lorry failed its MOT. I am not impressed. What was the point of having it inspected first? Mr O has taken it all the way to Mansfield, where he should have taken it in the first place, and goodness knows how long it's going to be there. Because he didn't have the car, he's ended up walking most of the way home, along the bypass, until he finally managed to hail a taxi. I can't help feeling that praying together more might help us avoid these total lapses of wisdom. There's nothing to lose, is there?

The good news is that we've decided now we won't be paying out vast sums of money for Zak's medication, we can afford a little holiday, so I have been in touch with the owners of Field Farm to see if we can get our holiday reinstated. They are more than happy to have us along, so I have sent off a deposit. We'll be going in the second week of August. I am so looking forward to it. They have a cross country course, and we can ride from the farm straight to the beach. 'Er Indoors is coming too.

I have finally succumbed and moved a lot of my crafting stuff from my (tiny) desk to the kitchen table. It is bliss to have everything I need spread out in front of me and not to have to keep searching through drawers to find everything. I thought Mr O would be annoyed, but actually he's more than happy about it. I am determined for it not to take up residence there permanently, (yeah, right!) but it's great for the time being.

One of my challenges this month is to make a card for my granddaughter, The Flower Fairy. She will be three. My brief was (from the girl herself) that it has to be pink and have Peppa Pig on it, so this is what I've come up with:

Hope she likes it.

The other issue is that I've been exploring the idea of some sort of logo for my cards. I came up with a 'Muddy Puddles' design, but I've decided to use this for the time being:

'Squigglypigs' is part of my email address. I needed something urgently when I set up facebook last year, and the word 'squigglypigs' popped into my head. I've become rather fond of it since then, so I'm sticking with that for now. I know nothing about the legality of these things, so I'd better investigate.
And finally, I'd better 'Fess up' (I'm having a love/hate relationship with that phrase at the moment) and tell you that I had a teeny tiny accident on the quad. I was trying to turn it, when I put my hand on the break but didn't realise my thumb was still on the throttle when the quad shot across the ditch and I managed to stop it just as it touched the electric fence. My leg got stuck under the gear stick and pushed it up to second gear, which is why it went so fast. It gave me quite a fright, I can tell you. Note to self: Do not drive the quad when you're tired!

Chick Flick

On the Friday before the wedding, there were a couple of important developments round here that made me almost want to stay home!

The first one was that the little ducks went out onto the pond with the big ducks. Suddenly they have feathers, and don't look very different from the older ducks, just a little bit smaller. Firstly we introduced all six ducks together, then the little ones followed the older ones down to the pond, the older ones almost flying, and the little ones running like the clappers, trying to keep up. Then they met fairly large scale water for the first time, and decided they didn't like it. In the end, it was one of the older ducks that came up and encouraged the little ones to try it. It was very sweet. And of course they took to it 'like a duck to water' (so sorry, it's the best I could do at short notice).

Secondly, Mr O let Penny out, one of the broody chickens, and off she went to get some fresh air and sunshine, when the next thing he knew, one of the cats had dived in and attacked a chick. None of us even had a clue one of the eggs had hatched, and Penny certainly didn't, as she'd gone off for lunch and left it there.

In his haste, Mr O picked it up and tucked it in with Peggy, who prompty and unswervingly adopted it. As he picked her up to pop the chick in, another chick fell out from under her wing and fell in the water pot. Mr O quickly retrieved it and put it back under his (or her) mother.

This is the best I can do for a photograph, at the moment:

as they are very small, run round a lot and keep hiding under mum. They were about the size of sparrows when they were born. I'm not sure what's the cutest, chicks or ducklings.

Penny has been a bit depressed, though, and when we let her out with Peggy (who strutted up and down proudly showing off her babies) she just stood staring at the wall for twenty minutes, but then went over to Peggy, as if to say, "One of those was mine, you know." She reminded me alarmingly of my maternal grandmother. I do feel sorry for her, but she is still brooding, so let's hope to goodness at least one of them, or one from the incubator, actually hatches, so we can give it to her.

Then the next, unrelated thing. We went in a cafe for breakfast while we were in Worksop, and there was a little second hand bookstall. Money from the book sales goes to 'Help for Heroes' and there was a chart on the wall, showing how much money they'd raised (six hundred pounds, I think). I asked them if they would like some cards to sell, and they said they'd really like some, so I am going up on Friday to drop some off. How exciting. I said just to see how it goes, and if they don't sell, not to worry, I'll take them back, but if they do sell, I'll make some more. These are some of the cards that will be going:

Not very difficult to make, but I spent a pleasant enough hour yesterday putting them together.

Sorry, I put them in their cellophane bags before I remembered to take a photo. Thanks to Margaret at Christian Chick Crafts for recommending a supplier to me. She is a total inspiration and mine of information. Her cards are so professional, I hope mine end up as good as hers (anytime soon, would be nice!) I am rising to the challenge of not buying any crafty stuff for the whole of July (in other words, 'It's nearly killing me!') Actually it's really making me think, especially for the scrapbooking.

I must add, that it's all too easy, come the winter, to say, "Oh, we had a rubbish summer!" so I just want it on record that it has been hot here every day for several weeks, at least since before Wimbledon Tennis started. We've had no rain for three or four weeks, and will probably have a hosepipe ban if it carries on much longer. It's driving me bonkers, I've actually been driven to wearing skirts, a rarity indeed. I've taken the horses off the second field to let it grow before putting them back on it, but it isn't growing because there's no rain. The horses hate the heat, and the flies are driving them bonkers. I have to put suncream and fly gel on Barnaby and Lindy every day, poor things. And if I don't ride by 8.30am, it's pointless riding until about 8pm, but I have run out of energy by then. Am I the only person praying for rain?

Birds of a Feather

So let's just re-cap...
A man called Barney


No, not Barnaby, Barney, came to build us a manege.
And he gave us a cockerel (fair exchange) who we named George. He's a Lemon Pyle Brahma, by the way.

But he also gave us some duck eggs, three of whom survived, to become the Cheepsters. I just wanted you to see that they've grown quite a bit, that they're turning white and feathers are growing. It's amazing.

But last weekend he brought round three other ducks, that are about eight weeks old. They are all Indian Runner Ducks. I think the black one is a male, but I will have to confirm this.

At night the Cheepsters go upstairs to their little house, and the Big Ducks go into the pen at the bottom.
In the morning I let them out and they go running down to the pond. Getting them in at night was a different story, but we've sussed it now. It still takes two people, but if we stand either side of the pond, they come out and take themselves home.

And of course, there are still the Ladies Who Lunch.



Henny Penny and Peggy have gone broody, the same as they did last year, but we have just been out and bought two rabbit hutches. They are ideal as brooding pens, one chicken in each hutch. They are both brooding two eggs each at the moment, and I have finally plucked up the courage to put three more eggs in the incubator today. Chicken eggs take 21 days, and it all sounds easy, but I'm very nervous about it.
By the way, anyone who says it's quiet in the countryside has obviously never lived in Derbyshire during the hay cutting season. Tractors are rumbling up and down the road like there's no tomorrow. Of course, Pongo and Missis are on holiday, so ours will just have to sit there until they come back.
Never a dull moment round here.
Mrs O.

Phew!

I have had a hectic few days. Son 1 came yesterday and stayed the night, so I have made use of the extra manpower to get some outside jobs done. It took us nearly two hours to weed the patio and tidy the garden. You may be wondering why I have weeds on my patio, and to be honest, I am a little baffled myself. I think I will have to resort to weedkiller to stay ahead of the game. The wheelbarrow was full by the time we finished.
I didn't tell you, did I, that the chickens and I aren't currently on speakers? This is because they came in to my garden a couple of weeks ago (we hadn't had George very long by then) and trashed my containers. I came in one afternoon, looked down, and realised to my horror that my busy lizzies were missing. There were lots of little green stems scattered about on the ground. One of my containers was bare - no busy lizzies, no loebelias. I was devastated. All that hard work for nothing. So now the gate is kept closed and the chickens can't get in. I know they stand in my containers, otherwise they wouldn't be able to do this, would they?






Our fruit trees have finally arrived. They are a month late, but never mind. On Monday night we drove to B&Q to buy some huge containers to plant them in. We have 2 eating apples and 1 cooking apple, 2 plum, 1 pear tree, 2 cherry trees and 1 apricot. The irony is that the farm used to be a fruit farm years ago, so it's come full circle really. They will stay in the tubs until the garden is finished. While we were there I decided to buy a couple of geraniums, as that's all they had left, so I've planted them this morning in order to replace the (years) plants the locusts have eaten.
Apart from that, between us we have blitzed the stables today. I have mucked out Zak's stable, put all the spare straw from Max's stable into Zak's, totally swept Max's stable and put our big boxes in there. This leaves the space clear outside, so I can sweep up properly. I still haven't finished really.
I rode Barnaby yesterday and today. We went for a fabulous hack yesterday, around a local place called The Manor where there is a decent bridleway. This is very close to where Max bolted with me and I haven't had the nerve to ride there on my own since. I was a bit nervous, but Barnaby was fine. I had to get off at one gate, with a little Jack Russell who appeared from nowhere (JR's can do that) and barked her head off. Barnaby didn't seem too bothered, thank goodness. He seemed to have so much energy I felt he could have done 10 miles and not been bothered.
Today I've schooled him and it was quite hard work. He isn't as supple as Max was (for all his faults) and struggles to bend on a circle any less than twenty metres. If I ask him to bend to the left he immediately sticks his neck out to the right, as if he's staring out to sea. In the end I got off him, got a mint out of my pocket and offered it to him right next to his shoulder and he immediately turned his head right round and ate it! Hmmm. We have some work to do there I think.
I've also taught Seven on Monday night and Ten tonight. They have both improved dramatically. Ten keeps on deliberately asking Fudge to canter, so I've told him off a bit this evening and said he must not canter unless I've asked him to. Why is it when boys learn to ride they all turn into speed demons by the fifth lesson? Son 2 was just the same.

And I have made some cards, too. I am very pleased with these.





It was making these that made me realise it was time to buy a craft knife. There is no way I could have cut them out properly without one.


Some of the card ideas in Papercraft Inspirations magazine suggest you use quite an unusual sized card, but they don't tell you what you're supposed to do about an envelope, so I adapt where I can to standard card stock that I've already got. These were a lot of fun to make, though. I still prefer to use foam pads for decoupage, but have learned the value of silicone glue, especially on some of these as the little dog's nose is decoupaged, so you can imagine how tiny the nose is once you've cut it out. You'd never find a foam pad small enough.




I have realised the difference between home-made cards and shop bought ones is that home-made cards make you want to touch them. When I gave Ten his birthday card, he touched and pressed every single bit of it. With shop bought cards you read them and put them up and that's it. There is something very tactile about a home-made card.
And finally, I've bought all the ingredients for the lemon curd, so hopefully I'll be able to make it tomorrow. I've been reading up about sterilizing jars, so I'm all ready to go. You know what they say, if life gives you lemons...

Post script: Immediately after writing this I googled 'making your own envelopes' and found a brilliant 'how-to' video, so that solves that problem.

Politics - the Art of the Possible!

Unless you've been living in a box in a field for the last six weeks, it can't have escaped your notice that we are in a countdown to an election.
In days gone by I have been very politically active. When I lived in London I lived in the house of the Conservative Sub-Agent for Putney. I put leaflets through letterboxes and canvassed people on their opinions and which way they were likely to vote. It was very interesting and you had to be quite brave, even in a Tory stronghold, but I found more and more that I wanted to say to people, "Vote for Jesus, it's the only way we're ever going to make the slightest bit of difference." I've met quite a few MP's and on the day of the election, the house was used as a headquaters for people to drop in during the day. I was there doing some calculations when suddenly the light was blocked from the doorway. I looked up and realised I was in the hallowed presence of... Jeffrey Archer. He'd just dropped by to rally the troops. A hush fell on the company present. He was a really nice bloke, actually.
Some years later, when Mr O and I had met and married, daughter 1 rushed in from school one day and declared that we must all 'vote for a conservatory.' Mr O and I heartily endorsed this and were disappointed that the election came and went, but no conservatory was forthcoming.
The same daughter also came in one day singing, 'Golden Brown' by the Stranglers, but she'd misheard and thought it was 'Gordon Brown, texture like sun...' I wish I'd trained my children to listen better.
They obviously get it from me. A while back I was listening to the radio when the newsreader declared that Dale Winton was going into hospital for a heart operation. It was only when they described him as the former president of America I realised she had actually said it was Bill Clinton.
All I really want to know is, will the Conservatives repeal the Hunting Ban? Yes there are more important issues afoot, but as a country loving girl, this question is close to my heart. I read on another blog that the Tories don't consider this a vital issue, but to many in rural areas, it certainly is. I can't find anything on the Conservative Manifesto, (a bit wishy-washy all round, really) nor any update on the Countryside Alliance website, so I am in limbo. It's easy for anyone in opposition to make promises, isn't it? None of the debate clips I've seen, or interviews I've heard on the radio show any of the 'Big Three' committing themselves to anything definite or explaining how they're going to pay for the changes they're going to make. Roll on next Thursday, I'll be glad when it's all over.

It's been a strange week on the domestic front. With no horses to muck out, I feel the rug has been pulled from under me, a bit of a limbo there, too. I decided by Tuesday that my day must still have some structure to it, so I have made a rule that I have to be out of the house by 8am to let the chickens out.
I must digress here to tell you that I have no idea at what age a cockerel reaches the age of sexual maturity, but all I can say for certain is that it's around six months of age. The poor girls only come out for breakfast and George is haranguing them. They get to swallow two pieces of corn, and then they are launched at. George's idea of romantic courtship goes along the lines of, "Brace yourself, darlin'!" and the job is done. Although his actual performance in this area requires a bit of polish, I believe I am to assume that we are now the proud possessor of fertilized eggs. Pongo and Missis are picking up an incubator (for a mere one hundred and twenty pounds) tomorrow.

My next job is to skip out all the stables, and make night feeds up, as the horses still seem in need of a little night-time sustenance. Unfortunately, no sooner does the job of mucking out cease, when the job of poo-picking the field begins. I have taken charge of field maintenance this year, and have said that for now the horses can have use of the entire second field, but once the haylage has been cut, they can go on the third field, but the second field must be blocked off, thoroughly poo-picked and left to recover for a few weeks before they have it back again.
I go out at 4pm and get the horses in, and go and poo-pick again while they have tea. I'd much rather poo-pick than muck out. Tessa comes with me, and usually one or other of the cats. They lay in the sun and supervise the work. Cats are good at that.
On Wednesday I went to get the horses in and Fudge was waiting for me at the gate. Barnaby was strolling down. I got Fudge in and came back to the field to see Barnaby trotting up and down the fence line looking agitated. When I looked across I could see why. Lindy had decided to take a short cut and had jumped the dry stone wall. Unfortunately he'd jumped into the wrong part of the bottom field and was separated from the others by the electric fence. I decided I'd have to undo the fence to let him through, but if he came too far down he'd realise he could just walk round the manege and escape to freedom. Barnaby was still running up and down. Fortunately for me, Lindy was so confused he decided to jump back over the wall into the middle field from whence he'd come, and run round to the gate with the others. Crisis over.
I am going to ride in the mornings, which will give me a chance to put suncream on Barnaby's nose before putting him back out in the field. Then I'm going to do the (dreaded) housework for the rest of the morning, and hopefully get some crafting done in the afternoons. It should work out quite well.
There has been a hold-up on the manege because the fibre that has to be rotovated into the sand hasn't arrived, and of course they can't put the rubber on top until that's done, so none of us can ride in it yet. I know Missis was really looking forward to it, so she'll be gutted, and I wanted to have my first go at jumping Barnaby this weekend, so that won't happen either. Never mind, can't have everything.

Oh, and before I forget, this is my latest little cross stitch effort. Only one more to go.

Have a good weekend, everyone.

The Rain it Raineth Every Day...

I think that's a line from Twelfth Night, and it's pretty appropriate for this week, as it's raining every day and driving me mad. The whole point of the clocks going forward is that Mr O should be able to ride after work now, but it's been absolutely pouring, making riding impossible (or at least, slightly insane).

I've got a little confession to make: You know I use my mobile phone as my alarm clock? Well having put every single other clock in the house forward one hour, I completely forgot to do my phone. I woke up yesterday morning before it went off, though, and thought, 'There's something not quite right here. It's taking ages for my alarm to go off.' I looked at the time on Mr O's clock/radio and it said 7.50 rather than 6.50. Oops! I am amazed the horses were so quiet actually, they must have wondered what was going on. I leapt out of bed, fell into the nearest clothes and went outside to dish out breakfast. Barnaby didn't seem too amused.

I had all six horses to do, as Missis was away, so got all the work done, including bringing Polo and Lindy in if it rains (which of course, it did). Then, as I went out to feed at 4pm, Missis suddenly appeared in the stable doorway. My first thought was that she'd managed to fly to Dublin and back in a day. It turns out she was so ill she couldn't get out of bed, and staggered out at tea time to come and tell me. She looked dreadful, I have to say. Poor woman.

She did muck out this morning, though, and it looks as though I'm in the clear until after Easter, which is wonderful.

I have ridden Max this morning, and it was very peculiar. It's almost as if I've lost my link with him. He was quite spooky going down to the school, and wouldn't really work in there at all. I managed about twenty minutes before calling it a day, and walked back home with him. I considered getting on, but he was in such a funny mood, I decided it wasn't worth it.

You may know that horses in England all have a passport, which belongs to the horse's owner, but if you sell the horse the passport must go with him. On Monday evening we had an official 'handing over of the passport' ceremony, so I am now Barnaby's official owner. I have tremendous butterflies over this, like when I bought my first horse, Penny. I used to sit in my office feeling sick, thinking, 'I own a horse!' all day, and getting very little work done.

I should have ridden Barnaby this afternoon really, but as Missis and I were getting ready, it started snowing, and Mr O came home and said it wasn't really worth it. Why on earth is it snowing at the end of March?

The plan was to do some showing this weekend, me taking Max and Mr O taking The Bard, but as the horses have been out in rugs with no neck cover of late, imagine my joy at discovering half of Max's mane is missing. Somebody has chewed it off. Marvellous. Now obviously I don't want to accuse any other horse, but I think the clue may lay here:

How can I tell one of my horses off for chewing one of my other horses? Honestly, I thought they liked each other. Max's mane is his crowning glory. I don't see how I'm really going to show him successfully without it. But if the weather's going to be total pants, I don't see the point of showing horses anyway. I'm not standing in the snow or rain freezing to death just to get a rosette. There is a dog show on the same day. Poor Tessa, how am I going to tell her she won't be 'Prettiest Bitch' now?

Roxy, lead chicken, has been chipping paint off the walls of the stables with her beak. We have also had a few eggs with a very thin shell, and one with no shell at all, just the membrane. I have been reading the book 'Hens In The Garden, Eggs In The Kitchen' by Charlotte Popescu that Missis' mum got me for Christmas, and it's very interesting. It says if you have a chalky soil chickens will naturally pick up enough calcium, which they need to form strong egg shells. Our soil is totally clay, and they're obviously not getting much calcium at all. We need to provide calcium from something like cockle shells. I wondered where on earth we get something like that from. We bought a bag of grit, and as I've opened it, it's full of little bits of shell, which is brilliant. I have scattered some about, and they didn't look too pleased, but since then we've seen them going to the opened sack and helping themselves, so they obviously want it. Hopefully this will lead to stronger shells.

Henny Penny has gone broody already. She did this last year. She has taken to sitting in the nesting box all afternoon. I had to go in and feel about underneath her to retrieve the eggs she was sitting on. They were hot to the touch. I felt like getting in underneath her myself.

Chickens In My Drawer

This is going to sound a bit mad, however I put it, so I may as well just get on with it. I have a perfectly good clock radio with an alarm, but because I like to listen to the radio when I work, I have donated it to the stables.

This means I usually use my mobile phone as an alarm clock, and I have a complicated ritual when it goes off in the morning:

Alarm goes off at 7am. Take lid off thermal cup of tea thoughtfully provided by husband, in order to let contents cool down. Press snooze button.

Alarm goes off at 7.10. Possibly grab huge cushion and sit up and drink tea. If not - press snooze button again.

Alarm goes off at 7.20. Panic, sit up, drink tea, get dressed and rush downstairs, not forgetting to trip over dog first, and feed horses.

But some nights I have got into bed and realised I haven't brought my phone up with me and can't be bothered to go downstairs and search for it. So then I have to resort to Plan B.

Do you remember Missis bought Mr O and I an alarm clock each for Christmas? Mr O's has a horse on it, and it neighs when the alarm goes off. He has taken it to work, and when people come into his office to moan or complain, he sets the alarm. When it neighs he tells them their time is up and would they please leave? Obviously they think he has completely lost his marbles. He is like Alan Sugar - "You're fired!"

Anyway, my clock has a chicken on it. Here is the offending article:

Why is it an offending article? One, because the ticking drives me crazy, so I have to leave it in my sock drawer, otherwise it's like Chinese water torture all night. So when it goes off in the mornings, crowing loudly, I have to leap out of bed, open the drawer, search around for a black clock in the dark, (it's always face down in the drawer) locate the little button on the back, and try and work out which way to push it to stop the dreadful racket. After that I slump back into bed, traumatized, but this is when the second, possibly more serious flaw in its workings becomes apparent. It has no snooze button. I could cry. I have to wake up and drink my hot tea and try desperately not to slide back under the covers, because if I do I won't wake up again until 8am, but it's extremely difficult when a: it's freezing cold outside and b: I have a medium sized dog slumbering on the bed. You feel my pain, I know.

- O -

I have read the riot act to the chickens this morning. In fact I gave them a disciplinary and read their job description to them again. "We feed you - you lay eggs. Nobody said anything about mucking out." They feel disgruntled that they are mucking out for free. Penny shook her Liberty print feathers at me. But who asked them to do it? Certainly not me. They walk behind me, gleaning enthusiastically, but I am hindered in my job as I am worried about stepping backwards and treading on them. Last week I accidentally donked Betty on the beak with my mucking out fork, but it's her own fault. They have a huge muck heap they can glean with impunity, what's so fascinating about stables?
They all left the stable I was working on in a huff, but unbeknown to me, Peggy must have taken my words to heart, as I looked round, and there she was, crouching in the corner, her body rippling with convulsions. She stood up, and there, behind her, nestling in the straw, was a pale blue egg. It was a beautiful moment, a moment to savour. Her eyes were jewel bright, and the pride in her expression was plainly evident. I had a moment of guilt, knowing that as soon as her back was turned I was going to have to pick up this precious item, that she would want to nurture and follow nature's instinct. She looked at me with one beady eye, as if to say, "Blow that for a game of soldiers!" and ran off to the other girls for some corn and a natter, never to return. I picked up the egg and held it against my cheek to feel the warmth, before placing it in the dish with the others. I am proud of it, anyway, even if she isn't.

(Ladies who Lunch, feeling the benefits of the sun, a good chinwag and some sleep.

It's a hard old life!)

You Can Run, But You Can't Hide

I've risen with the lark this morning and rugged up and turned all the horses out. Lindy hasn't had a rug on for the last few nights, as his own central heating system has kicked in so he is sweating with a rug on. Even Max and Barnaby are warm with just a thin stable rug on and a thin turn out on top.
I've been out in the very wet field to put piles of haylage out for everybody, then turned the horses out. I do let the chickens out soon after, but they aren't keen to venture out while it's dark, which it certainly is today, and there is a thick mist everywhere. I can hardly see the horses in the field.
I have had all six horses to do, and managed it well, considering I've had to change all rugs and put cream and powder on Lindy and Polo. Missis did make 12 haynets before she left though, which have been an absolute godsend. Nearly all the beds needed a bale of straw in, but I'd still finished by 12.30.
The Ladies Who Lunch strolled over around 9.30. They remind me of Aggie and Kim, two very annoying women who present 'How Clean is your House?' on Channel 4. They go into someone's disgusting hovel and clean it up for them, only to find quite often when they return six months later that the property has returned to its former glory. Anyway, I won't be at all surprised if the chickens suddenly start suggesting that a mix of Epsom salts and vinegar, applied vigorously, will bring a lovely shine to each stable floor. And they know what they can do about it, too.
I had Seven and Nine after school. They asked to play with the playdoh. I am surprised children of their age still want to play with it, but each to their own. They're quite creative actually. I suppose if it was modelling clay instead of playdoh, nobody would mind, would they?
I am still reading Charlotte's Web to them, after the break for Christmas. We seem to have taken up where we left off with no problems. I am doing a brummy accent for Templeton the rat, and a very prim 'Alexandra Palace' voice for Charlotte. Nine stares at me in fascination when I do this, because 1: I'm quite good at it (I've always been able to do accents) and 2: I assume that Missis doesn't do voices when she reads to the boys, but I may be wrong. Nine does drama, so maybe he is storing things up for his first audition, you never know.
I have ordered some stamps and toppers from a brilliant website which came today, so I am going to have a little play once I've written this. We are finally getting post again, after no deliveries for two weeks.
This means my Christmas present from Lorayne has finally arrived. The parcel was very light. I knew she was getting me some silicone baking tins, but the last thing I expected was this:






I really had to think about the best way to show you what they're like. I think it was the colour as much as the texture that was such a shock. Apparently they go straight from freezer to oven, and obviously, because they're floppy, it's very easy to turn your cake out. You don't need to grease them, either. I can't wait to bake something now. Lorayne says they make a much better cake, so we'll see. Have you ever used them? If so, what do you think of them?

And in case you've ever wondered why my blog is called Chickens In My Kitchen, this should make it clear:




This is Henny Penny, always hoping for food, with Roxy peeking round the corner, seeing if it's safe to come in. They've walked through the stables, through the garage and arrived at the side door. You can run ...

Wrens

My first two days back at work have been very hectic. We had more snow on Sunday night, and it has snowed all day today. I was woken at 4am Monday because all I could hear in my half sleep was a horse banging the walls. I was so disturbed by this I woke up fully and went to investigate. Max got cast last year and I never heard a thing, so I have been very conscious of noises out there ever since.
I flicked on the light, and every horse rose to his feet (I can't apologise enough), but Lindy seemed to be struggling. I think he'd either got cast again, or he is rubbing his rug on the walls, trying to rip it off, as he is too hot, and he was certainly sweating. I swapped his rug for Max's under rug, as it's big enough to fit him (it was bought for Zak originally) as it's very thin (like Zak!). I kept the neck down. There were no more noises after that, so I think he was fine, and in the morning he felt 'right', not sweated up, but not cold either. It's worse than having kids. At least they can tell you they've got a sore throat, you can give them some Calpol and keep them off school for the day. The trouble is, we didn't clip Lindy last time he was due, because of the bad weather, then he went lame, so most of his woolly coat has grown back, and he is far too warm in a stable rug. This is a bit bizarre when it's -6 outside, but who am I to judge?
I crept back in, so as not to wake Mr O, and climbed in between the sheets, and dozed off into the most wonderful slumber, only to be woken at seven by the rooster alarm clock going off. For some reason I thought it was a Sargeant Major shouting at me, "Ten HUT! Stand by your beds!" and leapt up in horror to locate the clock and switch it off, no easy task in the dark. I was a gibbering wreck by the time I'd done it.
I am wearing wooly gloves to muck out in, as the handles of the wheelbarrow are so cold I can't carry it with bare hands. Eventually, of course, the gloves get cold and wet, and I have to take them off and find another pair. I keep scraping snow off the dustbin and the garden table, so I can put bird food out. I am worried about birds and animals dehydrating, and so I keep leaving little dishes of water around the place, but they soon freeze over. The robins (and BFMB) have been joined on the bird table by a blue tit, my favourite little bird. He looks very smart with his black collar and tie, a veritable Beau Brummel in fact, and has soon got the measure of BFMB. He sneaks up behind her, grabs a morsel and flies off again, before she even has a chance to lumber round.
Needless to say, now that everyone has gone back to work, the outside tap is frozen solid. I've had to fill water buckets from our kitchen sink and carry them through the garage to the stables. I've filled each horse's water bucket in the morning and then had to top it up again at night, so that's 36 water buckets altogether. I'm putting hay out in the field for Max, Barnaby and Zak, and making up haynets for Polo, Lindy and Fudge, who are staying in.
I nipped in to go to the loo, and as I came out, a shadow swept past my face. At first I thought it was a bat, but watched where it landed, and as it took off from my wardrobe, I realised with astonishment, it was a wren. I was momentarily flummoxed. It's not often a member of the Senior Service decides to share a bedroom with you, is it? My instinct was to try to catch it, but then I realised that if I opened the bedroom windows she would eventually fly out, which she did, being a bright girl.
I sent a text to Mr O saying, "There is wren in the bedroom." He is ex-Navy, remember. He quickly text back, "Get her to do the ironing." which is probably the cleanest comment he could think of at such short notice.
When I went back up at lunch time, there was another one. What on earth is going on? How do they get in? I hadn't even had the back door open, and had certainly not seen anything fly past me or through the kitchen or anything. Very, very peculiar.
I finished mucking Polo and Lindy out, and my next stable was due to be Fudge's, but my work was hampered because:








I decided to leave him in peace and move onto Max's stable instead.
I went out to meet Six and Nine from the bus at four o'clock. I was still standing there at twenty past. Lucy Goosie pulled up in her 4x4 and asked if I wanted her to go down and get the boys. Pongo had text me to say they would be on the bus, and no one had rung to say the situation had changed, and the next thing I knew, the school bus drew up behind Lucy Goosie's car. What a relief!
I started taking the Christmas decorations down, and blitzed the kitchen, but I have to be careful not to use up every ounce of energy on a Monday, otherwise I have nothing left for Tuesday, even if I go to bed early.
And today it has done nothing but snow. This is the first time the horses haven't wanted to go out. Correction - they wanted to go out, but as soon as they saw the weather, they wanted to come back in again.
Mr O went to work before the snow started and text me to ask what the weather was like here. I didn't know whether he meant he was going to stay in Worksop or try to come home, but they finished work at 4.30pm so people had more time to travel safely, thank goodness. Yes I want him to come home, but not at risk of his safety. But I knew if the old car could make it, this new car definitely could.
The boys went to school on the bus, but within minutes of their arrival Pongo got a text saying the school was closing. How stupid. So Pongo set off on foot to go and collect them. I am so glad he hadn't left for work, otherwise it would have been me sliding down the hill and hauling two children back up it through the snow.
It seems to have taken me forever to muck out today. I guess I've just got used to three of us doing it over Christmas. It doesn't help that the chickens are starting to prefer the stables to the barn, where their coop is, and can find loads of places to hide in the stables. I spent twenty minutes tonight trying to coax them out, sweet talk them out, bribe them out and sweep them out with a broom, all to no avail. They looked at me with their beady eyes as if to say, "You've got no chance, love." They were flying from stable to stable, as they know I can't reach them in there, until I finally resorted to rugby tactics, pinned them down one by one, scooped them up, tucked their wings in and carried them across to the coop and plopped them in. And of course, by the time I'd got the third bird over there, the first two had come back out. They were probably highly amused watching me run round like a headless chicken for a change. I was exhausted by the time I got indoors.
I am supposed to put in a Tesco order, but I've been very busy, and I seriously doubt they'll deliver in this weather. I'd better go on their website and check. The lovely girl at Stable Mates delivered the horse feed yesterday, so they'll not starve. I have powdered milk, and enough flour to keep us going with bread, so we won't go hungry either.
So while I'm typing this, Mr O has gone up to bed, and called down to me, "Do I have to share the bedroom with her, then?" and I've gone up to see a wren flying round the room again. I've realised it must be the same wren that's found a way in, but where? We don't open the windows because it's too flipping cold. Has she got a nest somewhere? She is not going to nest on my ironing pile, that's for sure.
And finally, I let Tessa out last thing at night, thinking she'll be two minutes, and she takes herself off for a little tour of the farm, which seems to be getting longer and longer each night. Our garden gate is always left open, so she strolls out in the moonlight for a while. Where does she go? What does she do? I ought to follow her tracks in the snow to find out. I suppose if you're mistress of all you survey, you can go where you like with impunity, can't you?