Well, we got in at midnight last night having helped Jamie with getting in his year's hay, 320 bales loaded, unloaded, and packed. My fingers are killing me today. It's an interesting process loading in the dark - clanky-cranky rusty machinery and trundling along the rows of square bales in the misty moonlight, the smell of new hay, the itch of new hay, the prickles of new hay, the new hay in your eyes, and shirt and socks and hair. I can see why the Footrot flats Dog is is the only one who likes getting the hay in. Still if someone claims to be your friend and can't see their way clear to giving you a hand one day a year... you need better friends. It went faster with more bad jokes with 4 of us.
Barbs banged her head on the shower soap-dish as she was cleaning the new house - on the same spot as she bashed it the other day on the car door, and then today got it bumped again at on the same spot at the car boot sale. I'm thinking of fitting her with a foam helmet. She's in bed with a sore head.
I'm really struggling to write with the upheaval going on. Anyway, Paddy is now safe in the UK, and James is in the queue crossing the border into Zimbabwe as I write, and hopefully all of the upheaval will be sorted by mid Jan.