Luncheon is Served

What I've been thinking about:

1. My stomach (for a change).
2. Mismatched expectations.

There are many reasons Ivie and I are a pretty good match:

• we're both quite tight.
• we're both hilarious (a matter of opinion, I know).
• we both like our food.

During lambing, it can be hard for Ivie and me to have any quality time together. He's either working, sleeping or eating (washing, not so much) and my sleeping and eating don't always coincide with his. He's just popped in to inform me, however, that his nephew has kindly agreed to do the nightshift (thank you, Drew) so this evening we'll get a takeaway and attempt a conversation about something other than lambs, slurry and water troughs (it's been quite a rock n roll week, let me tell you).

I'm a creature of habit and already know what I'll be ordering from the Indian* (saag paneer) so all that remains for me to do is make sure we've enough crockery out for the many and varied accompaniments and wait for Ivie to finish whatever it is he's doing (unloading something, somewhere, but I'm a bit sketchy on the details. For a change).

We're trying to get better at making time for going out for tea or even just getting a takeaway. Otherwise, there's a danger that lambing consists of Ivie being too tired to speak to me for 7 weeks then reappearing at the end of March wondering why I'm a bit grumpy.

Gratuitous cute lamb (farmers look away now)

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago we went to Carlisle to get Ivie's car serviced. I know, it's a long way to go but we get nice coffee at the showroom and I was promised lunch on the way.

I was a bit disappointed when we pulled into Tarff. Those in the know will realise that my disappointment was ill-placed. Those not in the know will understand why I was slightly underwhelmed to be stopping at an agricultural store by a roundabout.

Tarff is an Aladdin's Cave for those who actually live on farms. You know those movies where the city slicker moves to the country with designer sunglasses, a bike with a basket on the front and no waterproofs? Tarff is the opposite of what she would expect to find in a farm store. No merino welly socks or artisan sausages here.

It has - at first glance - a random selection of stock from animal feed, baking tins and footwear to pet food, horse blankets and greetings cards. But it's actually all very practical (apart from the fancy tweed jackets that I secretly covet but wouldn't be able to keep clean).

Needless to say, lunch was delicious. And cheaper than the fancy farm shop next to the other roundabout that does sell fancy sausages and eye-wateringly expensive pies (I told you we were tight).

The next day, lunch at home consisted of soup, bread and rehanging a 15 foot gate. It would seem that things are rarely what you expect when it comes to lunch around here.

* DISASTER! The Indian is closed. Off to rummage in the drawer for more menus...