Tales of the Volcano Lair - Tractor Fun

When Ernst Stavro Blofeld was ejected from the Lair certain parts decayed until I took over. The monorail is non-functional and the sliding doors over the caldera are jammed.  Worst of all was the plastic roofing over the yard at the back (not seen in the film). I saw a very nice roofer and he sucked through his teeth and said "2 and a half grand plus VAT Guv and I'm robbing myself". I let him leave via the spike pit. I saw another guy and he said "2 grand cash and we'll forget the VAT but I'll need 50% up front and I think I can do it before Christmas". He joined his fellow tradesperson in the spike pit. Girding my loins I bought the roofing and did the job myself for about £600 in materials and two three-day weekends ably assisted by SWMBO.

Before







After

I used Coroline clear which has a life of 10-25 years (manufacturers blurb) but unless you have a decent pitch on the roof leaves and moss won't wash off with the rain. I intend to jet wash it every couple of years to maintain the light levels. All I care is that it sees me out as I won't want to be doing it in my eighties.

Here he is, the absolute boy. Fresh after 6 rounds with a squirrel in the back garden, or maybe a pigeon, or a leaf blowing in the wind, he's not fussy. However, the barking is the same. It was peeing down when he was let out for a last wee so pretty wet when he finally started to scratch the back door to be let in. The process is to get him in on a towel for the wet feet and throw another towel over him to stop the inevitable shaking which culminates in having to re-decorate the utility room once again.



SWMBO who has a certain poetical leaning says : "Look at him, he's like a boxer"

Me : "Boxer? He's a flat-coat"

SWMBO : "No, towel over the head. Think Marlon Brando in On the Waterfront "I could have been a contender!"

Me : "Ah, I know that look. It says "No shake - WANNA BIZCUT!"

And thus poetry was defeated and Bizcuts were victorious.

Your utility room is decorated?

Mainly with BtD by the sound of it!

BtD has three main names

Kennel Club name : Lord Cholmondeley Farqhuarson Dingleberry III (or something similar)

Day-to-day name : Bob The Dog

Family names : Bogey (see below)

And many minor names including

Beelzedog, Flatulent Prince of Darkness (methane generator extraordinaire)

The Greater Purbeck Snack Hyena (family parties, self-explanatory)

El Perro Estupido (getting his head stuck in stock fencing, AGAIN!)


Why Bogey? Well, we've had three Flat Coats in a row, Mac, Ted & Bob. The first two suffered the endemic breed weaknesses of hip dysplasia and cancer. After Mac, we bought a puppy from a local breeder who had fantastic hip scores and assured us that the line was cancer free. At two years-old Ted had to have one hip fixed and it's not pleasant having a vigorous dog in a hip cast for 6 weeks and having to help it pee and poop. The breeder still crosses the road when she sees us in the local town. Many harsh words were spoken

When Ted went from cancer (what a surprise) we couldn't envisage life without a Flat Coat so bought an eye-wateringly expensive pup with Swedish parents. No hip dysplasia in that lineage but with pedigree dogs there is always something. He has easily infected ears, bad for a dog that likes muddy puddles so much, has had cataracts removed from both semi-weepy eyes. The weepy eyes mean that the production of eye-bogeys is high, couple that with head shaking from the sometimes itchy ears and he can pebble-dash the utility room with bogeys when he comes in from the garden. When 'fresh' they're clear and hard to see but they go black when dry and go so hard that I have to use a sharp chisel the scrape them off without damaging the paint too much. After a while and as the little bald and/or shiny paint spots multiply, SWMBO gets the urge to re-decorate. It's a bit of a stretch to the ones on the ceiling, mind you.

If he doesn't shake them off then he has a habit of shoving his head between your legs looking for an ear massage and surreptitiously cleaning his face on your trouser legs. Not a real problem wearing old jeans but if I'm off to work and wearing black trousers the results can look like the remains of a vigorous session with a jizz mag (or so I'm told). Ofttimes you can find him chasing me round the kitchen trying to get a face clean.

BtD is now 7+ and getting the benign fatty lumps that shows the Swedish line is not cancer-free so we'll lose him around the age of ten. At that point I may contact georgeb and ask him to find us a Heinz 1057 variety dog off the streets of Manila.

Doesn't look too worried either!

Sheesh this made me laugh and cry at the same time

Let's get hay out of the way. Realising that stock feed this winter was going to be both expensive and in short supply we decided not to run the sheep on the new eight acres but go for hay. Can feed both sheep and cattle exclusively on good hay with a smidge of concentrate. The field(s) had/have been used for winter wheat and hay before but with no previous knowledge we didn't know what we would get especially with a dry summer.

The Lil' Grey Fergie was not going to be fast enough so 'Bill' a local contractor was engaged to cut, ted and bale the hay for many, many pints of beer.

Early one morning, just as the sun was rising Bill turns up with his trusty terrier and gets to work





Never mind the hay, just look at those wildlife margins. I'd feel a Countryside Stewardship Grant application coming on but sadly eight acres is way too small,



Halfway cut. Apocalypse Defender looks on.



After first tedding



The weather was so perfect that baling was only two days later





It was at this point we realised that that we didn't have the 200 (ish) bales expected but 358 of the little beggars. Now sometimes the contractor will take his fee in bales, especially if they keep their own livestock but sadly the wonderful summer had conspired against us and everyone had bumper crops of hay locally. Hmmmm, never mind all we had to do was find some storage in the local farming community but once again the wonderful summer had filled every shed and barn in 20 miles so we had to do some rick building.

Now picture this, two koff koff 'senior citizens' plus Bob the Defective Dog scavenging pallets from every industrial estate in the area after we cleaned out the ones at work. We needed 32 pallets for eight rick bases along with eight tarps, straps and bungies. That's 8 ricks x 40 bales at 20 kilos a bale mini-ricks plus 30 odd bales spread around the other two sheep fields.

After the first two ricks I had the biceps of Popeye and the spine of a jellyfish so went home for the sovereign remedy of a hot bath and two cold beers.



The next morning we called in the professionals and 'Bill' came back with his 8 bale grab and could scoot around the field and build Jenga piles of bales. I merely sat in SWMBO's daily Defender and watched. This is Clarkson-style farming.



We still had to tarp the ricks though



So the next great plan was to sell the hay off the field at £3 a bale, a bl00dy good price, but we were stymied by the wonderful summer harvest again.

Even the Raid Dolly got into the act. I took the picture from the picnic bench installed by #3 son for sunset imbibing. It works really well.



Never mind we're feeding the sheep with hay two months early against last year due to no grass in t'top field. With the shortage of feed later this year and the bumper hay crop being used up early I shall be the Hay Baron of Farkham Hall by January.