They're crutching over at the shearing shed. I believe they blow the daggy butt-hair off with high-volume country and Western music. I think there are something like 7 000 sheep to have their nether quarters shaved. I hear the Tasmanian government council for interfering in agriculture and wasting other people's money is issuing a decree that the shearers are to be trained to do waxing and to show sheep the various styles of undercarriage fashion available and providing 200 000 studs and piercing kits for adventurous ewes, owing to a misunderstanding about the word 'stud' by these city types.
On other news I spent half an hour hunting for Barb's hat. I borrowed it for mowing as mine was in the ute that she had in furrin parts (the big smoke, Whitemark). Only a branch or tree must have knocked it off my head. I'm a believer in you borrowed it, you must try to return it, or fix it or replace it. Walked every inch of the garden. Couldn't find it. Eventually found it was hanging by its string down my back. grumble.