Hairy Farmer with Nuts

It has been a good week here at Hairy Farmer Mansions.

Firstly, we had a lovely Sunday. The morning was spent happily sheep-bothering with Harry, who hung out of the Land Rover window and squeaked excitedly at our sheepdog’s demented attempts at round-up, hammering his little fists in joy-overload. I made a picnic in the afternoon and we drove over to Broadway Tower (complete with detour for John to look at some wheat, rumoured to be pancake-flat with 6-inch green shoots) and ate it on the fragrant grass in the warm sunshine.



I think it’s the first time this summer that I’ve actually felt pleasantly warm. Baths don’t count.

Secondly, Harry is eating well – and starting to walk. His first proper steps were a couple of weeks ago, and in the last day or so he is really managing to string several together before wipeout. This means that one day soon-ish, we shall be able to take him places again. He loathes the push-chair with the force of a thousand suns, and only wants to travel under his own steam. He seems to feel the need to put some serious work in on his speed and stamina, mind you, as I can’t keep him from clambering onto my (dusty) cross-trainer machine lately.

Thirdly, John had a begging phone call at lunchtime today from Farming Neighbour, whose uber-pricey combine harvester

has come off atrociously in the sludgy conditions. FN began the year by boasting about the prowess of his brand new shiny 100k acquisition. By mid-August he was complaining bitterly that the mud was collecting ominously under the wheelarches. Today he has admitted that it has sustained repeated damage, cannot cope with the conditions, and would Hubby please bring his 20 year old machine

round to finish some fields for him?

This does not please me personally, you understand (meaning as it does, that John will now be too busy to take Harry to his swimming lesson tomorrow), but Hubby’s glee is virtually palpable. I think it was only the fact that we had guests to lunch that precluded him launching into a full-on Snoopy dance, in fact. (Speaking of which, does anyone know a long distance moving company in the area? Friends are looking to move and can’t find anyone who’ll take their belongings all the way to California. Let me know!)

Which brings me nicely to Fourthly, and hold your breath, coz it’s a humdinger…

May and H came to lunch.

There! Told you it was exciting!

I have been thrilling at the prospect all week, and had dressed Harry up in his very best togs specially. I was utterly consumed with nerves and had been widdling anxiously like a small puppy all morning, but they are both just so bloody nice that my bladder control managed to reassert itself. Harry promptly worked off his excitement at their arrival by playing an enthusiastic game of pat-a-cake in the dogs’ water bowl, thus neatly managing to shed the best togs within minutes. Meh.

People, if I could have kept them both here permanently, I would have. They are extraordinarily delectable, lovely individuals whom I should totally be permitted to see every week, dammit! And even if I could be persuaded to let them go home with good grace (which I can’t; exceedingly bad grace is all I can manage) then I feel that Harry is immovable on the subject. Whilst May and I nattered away (Now, as you would confidently expect if you read – and of course you do! – her blog, May conversed cogently, fluidly and enthrallingly, whilst I, predictably, interrupted haphazardly and incoherently.) Harry quickly decided that H was simply the best thing since sliced bread (a very credible belief, too) and there was much chuckling and chortling. Although distracted by the twin lure of a trike ride and hen feeding, the wail he let out upon seeing their car disappear down the drive was one that spoke loudly of unending woe.

He wants them back, and so do I.

11 Responses

  1. See, I’ve often thought that both you and May would be phenomenal company for eith er a cup of tea/glass of wine and a chinwag.

    Darn intervening ocean makes it tough to arrange, though.

    And Hairy farmer with nuts?

    Google shall punish you 🙂


  2. Blushing exceedingly here. Blush blush. Also, have just been talking about your meringues. Are your ears hot?

    You be careful, my dear. We will be taking up permanent residence in one of your sheds so we can appear nonchalantly on the door-step at tea-time every day. Like feral cats. Or hedgehogs.

    My best to the triumphant Hairy Farmer.

  3. Look at all you lovely people! What a happy, relaxed family you make. SIL Beth and I talked last night about a chicks-only trip to England for the express purpose of visiting you. Maybe one day when all the boys are older.

    I share Hairy Farmer Husband’s snoopy-like smugness. Pride goeth before a fall! SFN got a raw deal with his machine but exactly what he deserved in terms of personality.

  4. Walking already?! Just look at him!

  5. I’m with Geodhe. I wanna visit too. Maybe we can get a cheap deal? I’ll bring cake. And absinthe.

    And the neighbourhood tractor deal? Schadnefreude – not just after sceptre in the dictionary. Hope HF revels in it.

  6. Hey. I am ALL OVER the meringues, if this is what you get when you visit Hairy Farmer land. I can reciprocate with haggis, if the mood moves you on your visit to Scotland. Oh, wait, we haven’t planned that yet. Huh. Probably just as well, I am not sure the natives could take our lopsidoboobed marvelousity.

  7. you have great, thick, shiny hair…did you know that?

  8. They are good company, aren’t they?



  9. ah, sounds like a lovely visit and those are some gorgeous pics. What a handsome family you are!

  10. What beautiful pictures! And what it sounds like it was a lovely week. Thanks so much for your comment and encouragement, it has meant the world to me.

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