Fathers Day. Yes, I know it was on the 15th. Although it was a big surprise when it was announced in the radio that morning. Our kitchen calendar states very clearly that Father's Day [UK] is on the 22nd......
So this week got a very confused start. Mind you, every day has been an improvement since. Yesterday's visit to the Highland Show was nothing short of brilliant. To me the Highland was the first impression of Scotland all those years ago. Nowadays I spend a lot less time drooling over Hisself than I did then, but that has not reduced the attraction of the day out at all.
Could I add that he looked gorgeous on the day and I nearly felt the need to fend the competition off with my handbag. On second thoughts it is a brand new bag and letting the next generation loose around dad works much faster. Maybe I should have dressed with more care too.....But when weather forecast is blustery wind and heavy showers it really does not matter what I have under my full length rainproof jacket, all one can see are my trusty "show boots".
This year's show was all about making it fun for No5. Seeing things that she would find interesting and pointing them all out. Making her feel successful and part of the community. I love being among farmers and I want her to love going out among cattle, machinery and other country pursuits. She was chuffed to bits with herself, behaved beautifully and generally enjoyed her day out. Her default position is anti crowds but obviously she spotted the difference - country folk were less "at her face" and she did appreciate the courtesy.
It is my annual window to the wider world in more ways than one. I spend the day looking, gathering ideas, collecting web addresses and generally investigating what goods and services small independent companies offer at this point in time and at what cost. This year I figured out that the difference between bargain box fleece jumper for No5 at the bottom of the hill compared to the one on top of the hill is about £40 and the label.
Another big change is the return of the buggies. In the early 1990's the show was full of small children. However in the turn of the Millennium there were few enough to count them all. It seemed that the hard years made people postpone starting the family or simply not have the money for a day out. Now with the brighter future the number of next generation has gone up too. Markedly many of the parents are much older than they used to be. As ever, the fathers take charge of the little ones on their own too, and it warms my heart to see what able, caring and loving fathers farmers are.
Another change over the years has been the quality and quantity of free gifts that companies offer. The children used to gather a large plastic bag each - now one of them got a free pen. In the drinks front I can remember the time when wine flowed freely. It soon turned to cups of tea and coffee which latterly have been replaced with spring water.
I never budget for food or drinks on show days but I think it will soon be necessary. This year we received the usual number of invitations to lunches, launches and refreshments. Sadly I must say that last years platters of prime beef and whole roast pigs were replaced by thin slices of cheese, the basket of bread was now an oatcake and pyramids of biscuits had shrank to a single offering next to the tea cup. Most alarmingly the flowing tea and coffee has in many places been sadly replaced by a re-usable shopping bag with a few leaflets inside. Please!!! I have now gathered 23 thin cotton bags. Could it be possible to exchange some of them to cups of tea in the next show???
There are still few traditional companies with good old fashioned hospitality. We parked our buggy into one tent for afternoon tea and a bottle for the youngest one. As I mentioned it was a blustery day and a gust of wind blew in from the open doorway, whipped a vase of flowers into the air and the water went flying - straight into No5's buggy. No harm done as it was just water but it rendered her transport unusable for the original purpose, carting Missy around. There was nothing to it but head for the car and start the long journey home.
First time ever we had to stop on the way home for a meal - we were starved!
P.S. If you have read Hisself's blog and wonder I can assure that we were in the same show and spent several hours doing things together.
Enough time has now lapsed to find some humor in lambing. This season's best must be the morning when I went castrating lambs and found that No2 [daughter] had pushed the box of rubber rings into the hand cleaner. I was in a hurry and stuffed a few into my pocket as they were and boy did we have fun! They pinged off the ringer every time flying an amazing distance to an unpredictable direction. I am sure even the ewes were laughing in the end! There was nothing to it but to return home, wash every ring carefully in a warm soapy water and dry them in a sieve above the aga.
This weeks disaster must be No1 [son's] end of exams party. It was something we expected but not one we want to repeat. Hisself is allergic to alcohol. He does not drink at all. No1 cannot tolerate beer. He is fine on the night but 24 hours later........So he decided to see what effect spirits would have on his body. His memory stops two hours into the party and into his third drink. Then we got the call to get him home. He stopped retching 14 hours later.
On a more positive note I can be reasonably sure that he will not be drink driving. The driving lessons have started and every time he comes home with a new tale to tell He has been driving his tractor from1970's for four years now. First lesson he found working brakes, now the clutch control is giving him trouble. This looking behind you business is confusing too - this far he has concentrated to making sure he does not drive over sheep in front of him.
No2 [daughter] has always been full of surprises. She is a girl who will paint her nails and do the hair for a game of footie. That is playing, not watching - she is a mean player. She loves her creature comforts and yet this weekend announced that she was going camping [!?]. Or tenting as she calls it. I am still quite unsure what to make of that. She went with a bicycle [!], dressed in tracksuit and it was raining [!]. As she is nearing 6' in height there are no young farmers taller than her armpit in cycling distance and at her age [15] looks are all that matter. Any ideas what she is up to????
For a day or two I was getting comfort from the fact that No4 [daughter], who is ten is still straight forward little girl. None of the hormones of big sister and grown out of the tantrums of little one. This came to an end when she borrowed some CDs from a friend and is presently educating me with gusto. For three nights now I have cooked to the tunes of Abar-Ul-Hag; Fakhir v/s Atif and Omer Inayat's. All big hits in Pakistan I hear. In addition she demands that I dance to her favourites......For some reason the cooking has not been to my usual standards.
Twice a year, during planting and harvest I try and do my agricultural bit. While Hisself is busy I manage the end of year accounts, annual organic inspection, farm assured livestock and grain inspections, pet lambs, calving and all the related paperwork. To be honest I have not been near a cow this year as No1 [son] has taken over the practical side but the paperwork is still all mine. For added bonus I get all the trips for spare parts too.
People generally have the idea that I am somewhat distant to practicalities of farming. To be honest I just look clumsy at it because Hisself is absolutely brilliant on the job and has trained all the children to outshine me by the time they turn seven. Even little No5 [15 months] went into the tractor twice a day while he was ploughing and sowing and now understands how both machines operate. Like everyone else she will be able to reverse the pedal tractor with trailer by her third birthday.
This new era of modern farmers wife has produced women with an ability to balance career, farm, children and a happy home life. On one hand I respect the modern woman and appreciate what they have done to gender equality, on the other I would like the world to think that being a mother, let alone Mrs. Farmer, is a full time job itself. A job that when properly done deserves respect.
Maybe it is the lack of uniform that demotes the home talent. I wanted to go to our local renewable energy conference with Hisself but it is strictly no children territory. To get No5 in I needed the full business gear, including the female version of business suit. I detest black on principle [makes me feel very mournful] and cleverly found my outfit from the local charity shop for £3.50. But it worked! with 3" heels and full paintwork no-one felt brave enough to stop me at the door despite No5 sitting in her pouch flaunting every rule in the book. Did not feel quite so good after carrying the girl for four hours on those heels but the conference was well worth the effort.
The funny bit was that number of associates in the industry decided to pop by the day after. Very politely in a roundabout way they tried to find out from Hisself if I was the same woman that was with him the day before - do carpet slippers and an apron really make that big a difference????
Oh, you guessed. My new life with no less than two washing machines. People at times wonder how women coped with house work during the days of large families and small washboards - can't be anything like today, can it??
Sometime after the fourth one was born I noticed that the average lifespan of my washing machine had shrank to six, maybe nine months. They all worked 24/7 and died of exhaustion. So Hisself got me an industrial sized one. The longest programme takes an hour and the sizable drum takes two and a half ordinary domestic loads. I am back to washing 2-3 loads a day and the bearings last about two years at a time, which is a novelty.
However this magic machine has maximum temperature of 55 C and my whites have suffered. It was OK when I still had time to pre-soak in stain remover but after No5 arrived....not good. As Hisself likes his t-shirts white [and as a romantic gesture] I got a lovely new machine for my whites. He researched as for any machinery purchase and found one made in China with Liebherr technology. When the first programme finished the reverse alarm sound of a large excavator echoed down my corridor to the kitchen and for a second I had this image of my new pride and joy reversing to my wash line to deliver the freshly washed goods.
The admin was wondering if Hisself is always that romantic? He is so much more. Since childhood I have loved draining muddy puddles by making little rivers with my wellies. When it rained for a month he went round my play area every night with the forklift making fresh tracks for the rain to fill. I found that very special, but No1 son pointed out that mummy is easily pleased! There was I thinking that Isobel's suggestion of practical presents had sank in....
Another piece of machinery on my shopping list is a little kids trailer. The kind you see in American TV and movies with a long handle and big tyres. They used to be imported to UK and sold at staggering prices. The CE regulation has condemned both the paint and the stability. Apparently If you turn the handle as far as it will go on a slope the thing will fall over. I would very much like my children to learn that if you play silly with machinery you'll get hurt, but developing sense of danger has become old fashioned.
I have two methods of getting stuff from America: Usually buying online, but they are not allowed to ship these things to the EU anymore. When all else fails Aunt Arizona goes to Wal Mart and uses the US postal service. In this case the object is rather heavy and Aunt nearing 80. She can't lift it to the shopping trolley let alone into her car. In desperation we have contacted Uncle Canada. He is a single man of certain advancing age with no experience with children. Uncharacteristically he has developed an interest to No5 and I think he just might get this one right. This is a trailer and he is a farmer. It is the set price that worries me - can this man buy a trailer outside an auction???? I'll keep you posted.
To a totally different kind of kit. No2 daughter has a retro day at school next week and she is to wear something from the decade's past. We found a rather fetching corset from the 1980's that pleased her and stumbled across my favourite pair of shoes from a long time ago. Made from leather and lace they are something a woman of my age should not admit owning let alone go out wearing them.
But I am guilty on both accounts. No1 son called that his bus was nearing the town. He had been hiking in the hills for two days for charity and was in desperate need of food, wash and sleep. So I dashed out. As I parked and watched other parents to rush to welcome their loved children from the bus I realised that for me the car was best place to hide. In addition to my fancy shoes I was wearing a bright red pair of tracksuit bottoms with bright yellow text "China" shining across my derrière and down my leg. All matched with Hisself's red Xmas jumper, well that is what it was before the moths attacked.
While all other mothers returned carrying half their son's kit and giving me dirty looks for being uncaring, No1 son arrived with a very pretty girl carrying half his kit and a rather satisfied smile on his face. "Thanks mum for not showing up!" - blessed are the days when the little I can manage is all they want in the world!!!!
Today is something special in our house. No5 has spent half her life with us and we are celebrating No5 style... All I can recall from Christmas is how poorly I felt and how much No5 objected on us behaving out of her new routine. From then on she has been prepared for every big day: On her birthday she had a stinking cold and none of us had slept for three nights. Chinese New Year went down with a diarrhoea from hell and a week without sleep and for this special day we have......chicken pox.
Not just any chicken pox. Last week she got her MMR jab and as the nurse promised the measles rash arrived 7-10 days later. So she has rash, blisters on rash and a temperature. Not to mention temper to go with it. I have carried her four days because that is the only way to get her to sleep during the day and most importantly to stop screaming. Her hands have been in every pot, every meal and every e-mail. I have postponed end of accounting year, paying bills and talking in the telephone till we are better.
On a brighter note she has been sleeping at night!
What I call hunter gathering is more like shopping to anyone else. Just that when you live back and beyond tracking down items takes many of the skills my brother taught me on our hare hunting days. The two oldest ones are beginning their wandering years and both needed hiking boots and backpacks. In my system it takes a lot of time just to find the shops that sell the goods we need.
Fair enough I can get stuff online and for things like books, toys and baby clothes I am happy with that. While US$ is worth 50p bulk buying No5's clothing from USA sales has proven to be a profitable job. General saving is 50% from our sale prices from the better quality end. But I want a backpack that is going to be carried by my daughter for 28 days to be properly fitted and something I can take back to the shop if need be.
With my method of madness, two weeks of holidays and several hundred miles later we finally found a specialist shop [8th we visited] where the staff knew the difference between short and long trip backpack and were able to fit not one but both of the kids with what they needed.
I do realise that our special hunting methods give goods a large carbon footprint - something that bothers my conscience quite a bit. Yet my hunter gathering has provided us with a local, reliable and cheap source of seasonal vegetables and free range eggs. With my car loaded before we hit the supermarket I have been able to lift my nose to the broad beans from Kenya, baby corn from Thailand and fresh asparagus from Mexico. I have no wish to let my standards slip as I know my farmer will have very similar selection when the time is right, just that his wares taste a lot better.
Cannot let a blog go by without a mention of Hisself who has spent the very wet days with new Scottish agrisupport system online applications. It has driven him bonkers. Every application produces a little sheet of paper and with this paper you have to provide a little map with a picture of your plans. My job has been photocopying, colouring in and making sure right pieces of paper have been put together. I used my best colouring pencils [for cattle spread sheets] and made a neat job, each one is a different colour. Hisself accepted my offerings with a broad smile and disappeared today to buy me something special - a second washing machine. There is no limit to that man's imagination!
The title is sexist to say the least but I learnt the words "forgetful" and "vague" while working in a hospice. [I loved the job and it was a great excuse to be near Hisself.] As my mind struggles from day to day I am pretty confident that my problems are not terminal - just some long term damage for a townie who copes with a farm and the farmer on day to day basis.
First of all a German engineer came to visit. He is helping Hisself with his latest idea. A nice chap. Complemented me on the lunch I gave him during his last visit. [?] What last visit???? When???? Hisself tells me that he popped in a week or so after we returned from China with No5. I can tell you to the smallest detail of every doctor's visit, every poking health visitor, every sample we extracted, every visit to the needle nurse and every bit of progress we made as a family BUT I can not recall this German. Total blank.
My second problem is much more annoying. Hisself is not admitting - so not quite sure who to blame. Someone has re-organised the computer Favourites list to an alphabetical order. Hisself always had his sites organised that way; F for Farmer's Weekly, hence I can still find it. I would put it under A for agriculture closely followed by B for blogs, C for clothes and so on. As a result my two minute morning scoot to check the world has turned to an hour's struggle at night when everyone else is asleep. It is so bad that I need a large mug of chili tea to drown my foul language - luckily even the dog is in bed.
So we have arrived to my dog problem. When No5 arrived we had two Jack Russels and a little girl with sensory problems - she would not touch fur for example. As girl got better and braver the Top Dog objected. She soon [the dog that is] had a short trip top the vets and permanent residence behind the grain shed. The Spare Dog learnt her lessons: never go into a car with Hisself and No5 can do no wrong. This dog takes her new job seriously. She sits on my knee at every bottle time offering some hair for patting, leaves the rabbits for pushing the buggy and sits under the highchair at meal times keeping the place tidy. I have seen her patiently sharing her water bowl where No5 was washing her toy plates, offering her tail for balancing when No5 was learning to walk and even being stuffed into a trolley full of bricks without a complaint.
Problem? Her name. This dog has a name. I use it - the dog obeys. However everyone else can use any word and she is happy to recognise it as a call. No1 calls her Gut, and she comes bounding to his feet. Just to show off Hisself called her an "Autonomous Region of Hair" and it worked! Even No5 has joined the gang she will not use the Name, or even dog but has devised her own Bow Wow which the dog naturally loves. When under a lot of pressure I have trouble using the right name for the right child [the fact they move around makes it more difficult] - it would be nice if the dog would let me off the hook.
I did read Matthew Naylor going on about sauna in the last issue of FW [21.03.08]. Fascinating to see how a Brit reacted to a very normal Finnish activity. The way I read it - the culture shock was overwhelming.
Basically sauna is designed for cleansing and relaxation. It is ofter referred to with similar reverence as church - it cleanses both the body and the soul. It is one of the corner stones of a healthy society.
Finland is not a classless society - but it thrives on equality. One place to demonstrate this is in sauna. All arrive together with nothing else but what mother nature was willing to give us. No pomp of car, suit or expensive shoes. It puts a female on equal footing with a male, the road sweeper with the boss. All that counts is wit [in Finland the ability to express yourself with the least number of words possible] and tolerance to heat on the top shelf. People learn to appreciate each other for what they are, not what they earn.
Another healthy outcome is males mixing with females in a non sexual manner while naked. The recent survey in the UK showed that majority of people think a woman showing flesh in public is responsible if she is raped. In Finland showing a bit of leg and a bit of cleavage is just party clothes - invitation to share any more than a passing look is communicated with totally different means. It also means that girls and boys know what a naked person looks like - no need for experiments behind the bike shed. In statistics terms Finland has one of the lowest rates of teenage pregnancies in the world, while the UK is the leader of the pack, in the most negative way.
Finns gladly invite all guests to join sauna. We think it is one of the best joys of life and within healthy social boundaries. However, despite some gentle teasing it is perfectly OK to chicken out. Making sauna to a weird experience with sexual undertones is very bad sport indeed and will forever taint one's credibility as a balanced person in the Finnish society.
We have one too. At the moment it is still sitting on a pallet in the workshop but it will be going one of these days [i.e. the day we can agree where to put it]. Hisself likes sauna but is not comfortable about sharing with lots of people. He says so and is excused. As my mum says "These foreign men cannot help the weird upbringing they had."
What can one then say about sauna without offence? We women tend to moan about what it does to hair, many a column has been written about the pros and cons of heat treatments. Men tend to concentrate to the technical side; is a real wood oven better than the new electric models, where to get the best stove stones and where one can gain access to an old fashioned smoke sauna.....
I will return to the title later on but first of all I want to celebrate the fact that our family has returned to normal. We are relaxed, No5 is relaxed and even the dog sleeps with both eyes shut. We are so normal that I have even joined Hisself to a farm walk nearby.
That was on one of the rare days when snow had dusted the ground and the world was glittering in the spring sun. Temperature was around zero and felt positively arctic with a gale force wind whistling from the North Sea. We had no option but to take No5 with us. I have taken a lead from the native African customs and carry my youngest wrapped neatly in a five metre long piece of fabric. I feel positively an earth mother doing it, but wearing my extra large winter jacket I think the look is more like Uncle Fester from the Addams Family. This far people have been too kind to pass a comment.
The day itself was organised by SAC and turned out to be one of the best for a long time. When the information got too much into detail there was plenty of prime cattle to admire [No5 loves cattle] and it was all planned around shortish walks between interest points. I managed surprisingly well with my load, but truth to be told got left behind at the last half mile. It was up the hill and against the wind and after three hours I was not quite at my best.
Hisself is planning some building work this summer and got an invitation to visit a farm not too far away to see similar work being done. It was the first dry day after a wet spell, so too wet to get on with any real work. At 10 am I suggested it would be a good day for being away. No, Hisself was busy. By 11 he had changed his mind. 11.15 he decided to go after lunch. 11.30 he wanted a packed lunch. 11.45 he wanted to eat his lunch early before he went. So we had a picnic at the kitchen table. I am telling you, even my newly returned relaxed state of mind was getting slightly frazzled by now......
After being cooped up in the house for months it was a treat of a drive. On the drier ground the spring work was in the full swing, sun made an appearance and the roads were still quiet. There is something so sooting in the Scottish countryside with quiet roads and nothing but tractors in sight. That is before the Season begins and all is ruled by the speed of endless caravans fighting over the road with equally endless rows of motorbikes.
Back to my title. It has all to do with No2 [daughter] signing up to a months trekking in South America in 2009. It is through school and they are supposed to raise the necessary funds themselves. As the cost is on the wrong side of £3000, there is dozen of them going and all of them come from our little community of 5000 people I could spot a plea for money coming my way in near future.
Faced with the fact that I was going to be forced to part of large amount of money whether I wanted or not I employed my daughter as my cleaner. I must say, the house is sparkling and I no longer need an excuse to keep unexpected visitors outdoors. Finally I have joined the ladies who can say "I do not do dear, I have someone who does!"
I am a failure on many domestic fronts but still think that I do rather well with my strong points. I mother my five children full time, feed and water the crew, keep Hisself happy and his office up to date. Not bad????
Then naturally I have a friend who also married a Scottish person. They have five children too [although hers are all under ten] and she keeps his accounts. I try not to feel bad with the fact that she is a brilliant cook, excellent housekeeper, rather nice person and does voluntary work every week. Not to mention that her eight-year-old can sew her own buttons back when they fall out. But now she has outperformed me totally.
One of their friends needed hospital treatment in the city and she opened her home for the family for the required two months. The friends came complete with four children. So now this friend is in hospital, his wife spends her days with him and my friend looks after all nine children, three of them are under three years old, every day. And she does not even sweat!!!!
Do I feel inadequate????? Yes I do.
Hisself popping in and sitting down in his boiler suit in the kitchen has not helped. I generally disapprove of him coming in wearing work clothes, but this time he went out with an extremely filthy bib velcroed into his sticky rear. A good wife would have noticed and saved him the embarrassment and a better one would not have dirty bibs discarded on kitchen chairs in the first place.
[Mind you not as bad as the time when he grabbed his new quilted shirt straight from the wash basket. This particular type has a velcro replacing the bottom button. He went round half a day with ladies underwear sticking to his shirt before any of us noticed.]
Lifting of my spirits has come from the most unusual direction. Mother in law. Hisself's parents are now in their eighties and MIL is a formidable lady to say the least. They had visited a young cousin who recently had his first baby. They are a lovely young couple and I can see her polishing everything trying to impress the grand old lady of the family. - Poor girl, MIL compared her efforts to mine and she failed at every hurdle; the house was too clean as was the baby; she showed far too much attention to her guests, not enough to the baby and tea was not up to standard.
It took nearly twenty years but I am delighted to announce that my mother-in-law finally approves of me. Beat that ladies!!
Now our age range goes from one to 17, so the variety is very satisfying to live with. At one level they communicate very well. For example today No1[son] tried to comb No5[daughter] hair and pulled slightly too hard. No5 retaliated immediately by sinking her eight sharp teeth into her big brother's leg. I had to tell them both off and soon enough they joined forces at playing with the dog.
This time prelim season coincided with plenty of snow and rather good sledging weather. No1 returned from good days fun with a lens missing from his spectacles. Unfortunately he depends on his specs to see and can neither read or write without them. The special prescription he needs naturally means extra days when ordering a replacement. Last years model was missing and the frame from before that was way too small to his face.
All above saw him taking prelims with his sunglasses, which is not a cool look in mid winter with school uniform, especially not when indoors. Needless to say the results have been poor. I am in two minds whether to blame the lack of vision or the fact that he had not worked hard enough.
Meanwhile No2 [daughter], who had the full two weeks off and two exams to take, enjoyed home life to full. She slept till lunchtime, made pancakes with jam and cream for breakfast and spent the rest of the day playing indoors with No5 or outside with the bull. She has never been one for horses but absolutely loves cattle. Our bull gets treats and cuddles every day as well as his fresh bed and feeding from her dainty hands.
After days of talking about moving cattle I heard Hisself calling for his daughter: "Come now, I need you with the cows!". No2 "I can't come." Hisself: "here, Now!" No2 " I can't daddy, my hair is perfect" Hisself "What??" No2 "It was horrible yesterday, why could you not ask me yesterday?" Hisself "I am asking you now!" No2 "It took me ages to get my hair perfect and now I must put a hat on - it will be ruined." Hisself "What does it matter, you were home all day yesterday and you are home all day today." With bad grace and shaking heads father and daughter went to work together. That is logic at 15.
Ever wondered where the statistics come about teenagers. You know the 70% of 12 year-olds have been bullied during last year and so on. No3 [son] was filling in one of these questionnaires and as the family tradition, was taking the mickey out of the job. The question was "Name 10 things that make you afraid." The plan is to begin with reasonable answers like, getting a poor education and getting a low paid job. Then to the slightly odd; wheat price falling and finding sheep in my room. Next comes bizarre; alien invasion and the Apocalypse and then finishing off with personal disasters like having to cut my hair and in the girl's case breaking a nail. Lesson for adults; never pay any attention to teenage statistics!
In the other end of the spectrum No5 has kept us busy with a campylobacter infection. Last weekend it reached a stage when I saw dirty nappies whenever I closed my eyes. She is better now and regaining her control over the house again. After five months she has made friends with he dog. The dog is very much in love with apples and sits patiently next to No5 whenever she has a slice. Apple is still a bit difficult to handle so delicious crumbs fall directly into the dogs waiting mouth. Finally No5 figured how much the dog loves apple and every now and again she moves the slice to her free hand ans lets the dog lick her juicy fingers clean. We are working on a healthy immunosystem here...
The weather forecast was Armageddon and a good chance of being snowed in for a while. As usual I went and filled the larder planning for a serious cookout with plenty hungry mouths at home. The snow never arrived but the food seems to be disappearing with the usual alarming rate.
As the person in charge of spending the money for ingredients I want to support my local producers and source as much of our food as possible from somewhere else than Tesco. My shopping is slightly hampered and unbalanced as most of us have serious food intolerances. For example I never worry where to find a fresh free range chicken as eating one would lead to a serious, yet spectacular results and a fight over the prime position at the bathroom door.
Meat that we can eat I find surprisingly easy. Every time the freezer is empty I book one of the bullocks to the local slaughter house and he will return within three weeks neatly boxed and labelled. Pork is equally at hand as a friend keeps one for her freezer and looks after mine too to give her little piggie some company.
Vegetables! The simple option would be to grow them myself. I have tried and I am a useless gardener. It all grows, but never to a reasonable size. After the last big storm blew away my greenhouse I decided to call it a day.
The local butcher stocks leeks, potatoes, carrots and turnips. The Deli across the street has soft fruit in summer time and Seville oranges just now. That is it bar supermarkets. When a local veggie box scheme started I was one of the first ones to sign up. The produce was good but it was very much one size fits all. I never got enough potatoes to make one meal for the family, yet I struggled with my weekly 20 onions. She would not take into consideration that there are many things we cannot eat - so some weeks I gave most of it away. Then was the month when we got two gigantic red cabbages each week. I now have many recipes to tackle the vegetable, and it became a family favourite, but when faced with a fifth week of the same stuff I resigned. Mind you, so did the lady's polytunnels, both blew away in a snowstorm and she is yet to return to business.
The next cunning plan was to eat the surplus from another friend's garden. They are a family of self-sufficient ex townies and grow everything with enthusiasm. I soon found out that they seriously lacked on the skills front and had no quality control. Lots of my share was either past its best or I was sharing it with slugs, caterpillars and such-like.
I can hear your brain screaming - go to the farmer's market woman! Well.....the local one is good for home baking and potatoes. The better ones are a minimum 20 miles away and operate on Saturday mornings. The sellers on the good markets travel up to 60 miles to get there, add on my mileage and the six beetroot's I was after produce a gigantic carbon footprint. And I have a thing about Saturdays, that is when my family is home and I want to be here too, cooking for them, not searching for food while they survive on cold bits from the fridge.
Yes, I have been given a blog of my own. Just in case anyone wants to know what happens in the background when Hisself is busy farming.
The beginning of the year has been financial strain in more ways than one. To start with we took the children to the Xmas sales. No1 son looks more like a street urchin from Moscow than a normal teenager. First of all his is extremely thin, secondly his clothes fitted him about two years and and 20 cm growth ago. After two hours and patience of a saintly mother he had agreed to buy one pair of jeans and two tops. As a reward he was allowed to go into a bookshop. 10 minutes later he re-emerged with a bag full of books worth £89. Maybe I should make his clothes out of old newspapers......he might even agree!
My mother has made serious noises about dying lately, so I took the hint and booked a summer holiday in Finland. Seven return flights, a holiday cottage that sleeps 12 and a hire car [minibus]. I have not have the courage to tell the total to hisself yet, actually I have not had the courage to count it all up for myself either. On the positive side mum is beaming and has forgotten the dying act for the time being.
As soon as my first lot of spending was done I got a letter from school. Before Christmas I had agreed to a school trip [?] and paid a deposit [?]. Anyhow the reminder was now due. Could I write a cheque for £720. No, that is not the total, that is the figure per child.
Feeling skint and thinking that I could do all the damage at one go I finally filled in No5's citizenship application. For a baby it is £400. Having already paid £500 for her entry visa the words of Hague Convention: "no organisation should profit from international adoption, although they can recover their actual fees," sprang to my mind. Obviously governments are not included in this arrangement.
I can clearly see why people prefer to remain in the black economy and not declare themselves, even if they are entitled to citizenship. There is not only the cost of entry visa to consider. The citizenship application fee is high. The number of supporting documents is enormous. We needed 9 for a straight forward case. The "simple" form was 16 pages long and the helpline had no advice for adoptive parents in their guidelines, we should "fill it in the form the best we could".
As most applicants are from abroad the supporting documents must be presented with certified translations - each can cost up to £50. Cherry on the top is the cost of citizenship ceremony. Which family with a child or three can carry such cost - especially as you are fined £5000 if you get the paperwork wrong. As applicant you are neither given correct or indeed any advice, nor are your best efforts a simple mistake, you simply get accused of fraud without questions.
No5 is growing fast and we are due to send her first post placement report to China. As I mentioned in the money blog you have guessed right. We paid a private social worker to come and observe us for a few hours and then write about it. Then we paid for a translator to translate it all to Chinese. The DCSF will kindly forward the pile to China without a fee. So what should I do? Feel bad about the expenditure or cherish the free stamp the Government is giving us????
From the lines of the TV add: "There are some things money can't buy and for everything else there is the farm overdraft!"