Ho, Ho, Ho

What I've been thinking about this week:

1. Winter schedules

2. The 'C' word

In theory, I should see a bit more of Ivie at this time of year. (By which I mean I should see him more often, not that I should see more bits of him. What with the thermals and extra layers not much of our pasty, celtic flesh is seeing the light of day at the moment.)

But the thing about living with a sporty farmer is that once the busy summer is out the way, it's time for the winter sports - touch rugby and curling, rather than ice hockey and figure skating, just in case you were wondering. 

Sport at a safe distance

It doesn't seem to have been as noticeable this year, though, as this is the first December since I moved to the Spittal that life has been a bit more normal. It's coming up to our third living-together-aversary and I don't need to tell anyone how far from normal December 2020 and 21 were. 

Which brings me to that 'C' word (if you'd like to watch a seasonal, sweary song that includes a few mentions of the other 'C' word, you can click here).

Ivie and I are both a little bah humbug about the festivities. We both enjoy eating more cheese and drinking more port than usual and blaming it on Christmas, obviously, but that's not quite the same as embracing the tinsel. Besides, our first date involved a bottle of port and cheese on toast and I'm all about preserving traditions.

Cheers!

To be fair, I love seeing other people's trees and decorations all lit up and I do enjoy a rousing rendition of O Come All Ye Faithful in the village on Christmas Eve. Part of my reticence is that in a past life a fully decorated house was used to paper over the cracks in an unhappy household and I haven't quite had enough therapy to dissociate the two. Freud would, indeed, have a field day, just before handing me a Santa hat and a singing reindeer. 

Being out of the house more often at carol concerts and Christmas afternoon teas means that things are a bit more evened out and I feel less like a rugby and curling widow compared with previous years. My Christmas tree earrings have even seen a few outings with a few more to come before December is out. 

I'm sure that deep down we're not as bah humbug as we like to present to the world. After all, we managed to inadvertently name our dog after one of Santa's reindeer. I'm sure Freud would enjoy that, too, as we try to persuade him that she's actually named after a Specials song (no sweary words in this one).  

Stop your messing around

Not Such a Perfect Day

What I've been thinking about this week:

• Teamwork

Ivie and I are pretty similar in a lot of ways. We're both a bit lazy about housework, neither of us is bad cop when it comes to puppy training and we find each other hilarious (thankfully). 

Who's in charge here? I'll give you one guess....

I can't imagine being with someone that a. I don't find hilarious and b. Doesn't find me hilarious (as in funny haha, not funny peculiar). Laughing every day makes my world go round. 

World events sometimes make it hard to find something to laugh at but our little world usually provides good comedy fodder. The punchlines often involve shite and are delivered during meal times but I'm getting used to adapting my description of a dirty joke. 

Of course, there are lots of ways we differ, too, such as our tolerance to cow shite on our clothes, skin and soft furnishings, as well as our ability to reverse large piece of machinery in small spaces (I don't need to try to know that I would cause thousands of pounds worth of damage).

These similarities and differences do mean that we make a pretty good team, though. 

Yesterday's team task in glorious sunshine involved me holding the dog and proffering treats and encouragement while Ivie clipped her fur. It's not quite up to Crufts standard but it's better than it was. 

Gratuitous puppy pic

Today's weather has taken a turn for the worse and it feels more like February than the end of June. The wind is howling and the rain is coming down in sheets, making it Ivie's least favourite kind of day. Why's that, I hear you ask. Well, because it's the perfect day for doing bills. 

Here's how much Ivie enjoys it. 

11.08am   We start doing the first bill. 

11:16am   Ivie: Is it time for a break yet? 
                 Me: We've been doing this for 8 minutes.
                 Ivie (with petted lip): It feels like 8 hours. 

Not Ivie's Happy Place

So, the kitchen is a bit of a tip and the dog is running rings round us but at least the money will come in and we'll still be laughing at our own jokes. 

Ice, Ice Baby

 What I’ve been thinking about this week:

• Socialising

What I haven’t been thinking about:

• Fertiliser prices

Over the last few weeks, it feels like that world has started to open up a lot more. I’ve gone from being a bit anxious about leaving the farm to looking forward to seeing other people. I’ve still got some anti-social tendencies but they’re more personality-related than covid-related. 

For the last couple of years, we’ve all been making our own entertainment at home. Being middle-aged, ours has revolved around drinking wine, eating salty snacks and laughing at our own jokes. Now that we’re comfortable being out and about much more, I’m cutting down on the frazzles so that my going out clothes still fit but I’ll hold on to the vino and hilarity if you don’t mind.

Last week, we were at a curling club dinner to celebrate 50 years of the local ice rink. (There’s a sentence I never thought I’d type.)

Over 300 people were packed on to the iceless ice rink for dinner, drinks and a lot of speeches. It was a good night, catching up with people we hadn’t seen for a long time and being in the same room as a lot of Olympians and shiny medals. There was a shout-out to all the clubs represented and I was more than a little disappointed that ‘curling widows’ wasn’t a recognised group in its own right. 

What I’d forgotten about socialising in the outside world with Ivie was the topics of conversation. There’s a lot of crossover between the curling and farming communities so inevitably the chat around our table turned to lambing, silaging and fertiliser prices. In fact, one couple even had to leave early because a cow was calving at home. Another sentence I never thought I’d type. 

Very expensive, apparently

I like to think I can hold my own a bit more these days when it comes to farming chat. Gone are the days when I didn’t recognise anything or anyone being discussed and drifted off in my own head, circling back when we got to more familiar ground (or asking really, really stupid questions). Having said that, there was the party where the men I was standing with got on to different brands of wellies and which cattle breeds were their favourites to cross. Even I couldn’t fake interest in that. 

What’s changed, though, is that I know more people and I can go off and find someone who wants to talk about the important things in life. Like Sewing Bee, the age spaniels finally calm the **** down and how long it’ll be before we’ll need varifocals. I told you I was middle-aged. 

Ambitious stick carrying

Writer's Block

 What you should know:

1. My blog-writing mojo has been on holiday.
2. There are fewer jokes than usual in this blog. 

It's been two months since my last blog, which sounds a bit like I've taken a wrong turn and ended up at Confession. I've started a couple of ideas but none of them have really got off the starting blocks. 

I could give you any number of excuses but none of them would be quite true. The main reason I've had writer's block is that I (temporarily) lost my sense of humour about living on a farm. Most of the time I enjoy seeing things from an outsider's point of view but sometimes I feel a bit like a round peg in a square hole. 

Lockdown and the changes we've all gone through over the past 16+ months seemed to take their toll. Being alone - as is the case a lot at this time of year - began to feel a little lonely; plans changing at the last minute started to feel a bit bigger than they normally would; and my lack of experience in farm life felt like it would never get better. 

Today's view

I spoke to a wise friend who reminded me that moving here a matter of weeks before lockdown was a baptism of fire. I don't really know what 'normal' farm life is like - and I know there's not really any such thing.

I'm not a 'oh woe is me' type, though, and I'm keenly aware that I've got it pretty good compared with a lot of people whose employment, health and relationships have been affected beyond repair. 

Thankfully, I've got this happy pair to keep me out of mischief (one of them likes getting their belly rubbed in the morning).

Lunch Break

What you should know:

1. Picnics are one of my favourite ways to eat. 
2. I'm easily duped. 

I know you'll find this hard to believe but when I was wee, I didn't have much of an appetite. I picked at my food like a bird and never felt much like eating. At lunchtimes, my mum would make me up a plate with a little bit of this and a little bit of that to try and encourage me. I don't even remember having a favourite food. 

Fast forward 40+ years and I've got what you would describe as a healthy appetite. Pretty much everything is my favourite food but especially chocolate, noodles, halloumi, hummus, all cheese, peanut M&Ms, cheese and onion pasties, scones and Doritos. But not all on the same plate because that would be weird. 

Scones! 

Even now, I like a picnicy lunch or tea when you put tasty treats on the table and keep picking at them until nobody can move. The trouble is, Ivie knows this and used this knowledge for nefarious purposes. 

I don't work Fridays and I often just pootle about drinking tea, reading and playing with the puppy. Ivie also knows this. One Friday a couple of weeks ago, Ivie was going to row up silage at the next door farm. As he was getting ready to leave, he said, "maybe we could have a picnic for lunch."

"What a great idea," I thought to myself, "I'll see how the drinking tea/reading/puppy entertaining is going and decide at lunchtime." Ivie exited stage left. 

After he'd gone, I noticed his lunch box on the table. Sans lunch. 

What Ivie said: "maybe we could have a picnic for lunch." 

What Ivie meant: "I haven't actually made any lunch for myself and if you don't make me any I won't have anything to eat today. Oh woe is me. So, you'll have to make me lunch, walk along the cycle path, through a couple of fields (uphill) in the midday sun and I'll take a 15 minute break to eat it with you. Then you can come home again."

And because I'm such a good girlfriend that's what I did. And Ivie's sister in law did the same for his brother, who I'm sure was much more direct. We set off with two picnics and two dogs and had a grand outing. And luckily for Ivie, it was a pretty good view.