Old Habits Die Hard

What I've been thinking about this week:

1. Tea
2. Naps

You might remember that I went on a writing course back in October (I wrote about it in this blog). Well, I've just been on another one. 

In the run-up - as well as looking forward to spending a whole weekend writing and chatting to other people about their writing - one of the things I was most looking forward to was having a slower start to my day. Usually, I'm up, dressed and out with the dog before my eyes are fully open and my body is fully upright. 

Pre-dog, I'd shuffle about in my jammies for a bit, make a cuppa and then think about the day ahead. What joy it would be to relive those days! 

Except what I actually did was wake up at my usual time, get dressed quickly and wonder if the tutor's puppy would like to go for a walk. Even when she didn't, I was out strolling around Brig o Dee before 8am* and thinking about my first cup of tea of the day. 

I've never smoked (except in a pub one night in Cupar, which just left me with a sore throat and sore chest. The fact that the smoking took place inside tells you how long ago it was). However, I imagine the first cigarette of the day is very much like the first cup of tea: nothing else hits that high and you spend the rest of the day trying to recreate it. (A tea problem, me? Absolutely not. I could give up any time I like; I just choose not to.)

I got back from the weekend tired but happy. I'd learned loads and met some great new friends but what I hadn't done was sleep a lot. Despite a ludicrously big bed all to myself, my brain had been too busy to switch off and I arrived home in need of a nap. 

I already know that I am always going to be lazy compared with Ivie (I wrote about it in this blog) and this week I remembered that I can never, ever mention that I am tired. 

Luckily, Ivie is very relaxed about the different paces of our lives. A busy weekend for me is meeting friends for lunch, a rummage in Wigtown Community Shop and a dog walk with a friend (which also includes lunch). A busy weekend for Ivie involves a full day of work, lambing three ewes at 1am, coming to bed just after 2 and and then doing it all again. 

He rarely complains so I definitely don't feel I can moan about being tired when I was basically being force fed cake and laughing till I cried at (true) stories of hamsters and firemen. (It's a bit like the unspoken rule of not mentioning you got less than your usual 8 hours to new parents of a tiny human.)

Thanks to Drew, Ivie has had a couple of nights off from the nightshift so we're managing to go to bed at the same time, something we take for granted the rest of the year. His alarm will still go off before mine as I tell myself that if only I could have a day off from walking the dog, I'd be having a lie in with a cuppa. It seems you can't teach an old dog new tricks after all. 

* I know this is mid-afternoon by farm standards.

Let's Face the Music

What I've been thinking about this week:

1. Love and Romance
2. Don't be ridiculous, of course I haven't! 

What I've really been thinking about:

1. Crabbit and thrawn farmer(s).
2. Glitter balls and disco lights. 

I can't believe we're halfway through February already. The first few weeks of the year have flown by and I can just about see Spring at the end of the tunnel that is a Scottish winter. 

Of course, for some people halfway through February means only one thing - posting on Facebook/Twitter/Insta how much they love their significant other/best friend/dog (when the rest of the year all they post is what a pain they are). 

💖(I'm not really hard hearted)

At least at the Spittal we're consistent - we moan about each other 365 days a year we rub along day to day, laughing at each other's jokes and the absurdity of life, and getting on pretty well. To be fair, I think I'm harder to live with than Ivie is (and, as Kenny at the Creebridge told me the other night, I should be happy with my lot since I'm punching above my weight as it is).

As well as not winning the pony club quiz at the Creebridge last weekend, I had a night in Glasgow with some friends to watch Strictly. In the car on the way home, we were discussing Scottish words that are common in the North of England (where the friends I was with have both spent time living). They'd heard of crabbit but thrawn was a new one for them both. But more of that later. 

The other thing that marks mid-February at the Spittal is the start of lambing. It's started a wee bit early this year but, so far, Ivie's still getting a full night's sleep and is more or less on an even keel. Except one night last week when the dog was particularly unenthusiastic about carrying out her last ablutions and getting the **** to bed. 

First lambs of 2023

Let me tell you the secret for getting the dog to do what she needs to do. All you have to say is, "Let's go disco!" and she'll perform (it's a long story which basically involves my reluctance to stand outside shouting "pees" and the flashing light setting on my head torch. Don't judge me. Sometimes I have to make my own entertainment). 

• Guess how keen Ivie is to stand outside going, "Let's go disco!" 
• And have a guess as to how long he will stand outside in the dark and cold while the dog sniffs every blade of grass instead. 

I think you can guess the answer to both of those questions, as well as seeing how well 

they illustrate the definitions of crabbit and thrawn. And we're barely at the start of lambing; it's only going to get worse. 

Unhealthy and Unsafely

What I’ve been thinking about this week:

1. Lambing
2. Health and Safety

Here we are again. The end of January is in sight and February marks the beginning of lambing. There are a couple of weeks before it all kicks off but this time of year always makes me think about how little I’ll see Ivie and how best to deal with that. 

I have to say, it’s not such a daunting prospect this year: partly because life feels more normal than it has done for the last three years so my own life away from the farm is busier; and partly because I know what to expect. 

I’m not big on big gestures (just as well, eh) and I don’t need expensive presents in my life (ditto) but one of the things that makes me feel happy in a relationship is uninterrupted, quality time. 

This can be a challenge in amongst farm life. We can be like ships that pass in the night and, as you can imagine, this is even more so during lambing when Ivie spends his evenings snoozing on the sofa and I get used to not stirring when he comes to bed in the wee small hours.  

We’ve tried to take a more proactive approach this year, frontloading some time together before the insanity kicks in. We had a night away in a hotel this weekend where we ate, drank and were merry (Ivie greatly so) and had a visit to the Devil’s Porridge Museum at Eastriggs. 

It tells the story of the cordite factory that spread across 9 miles at Gretna and Eastriggs during the First World War. At its peak, it employed 30,000 people and produced 11,000 tonnes of the stuff a week. Health and Safety wasn’t really a thing and the young women who worked there (most of whom were under 18) were known as Canary Girls because of the yellow hue of their skin. It’s well worth a visit if you’re passing by on the way to the M6. 

I know it’s easy to talk about Health and Safety gone mad and all that but we’ve come a long way in the 100 years or so since the end of WWI. I was a bit alarmed when I discovered that farming is one of the most dangerous industries in the country but it makes sense when you think about it. Let’s face it, I’d have to be going some to sustain an injury in my job. Health and safety really would have to go mad for me to have to enter ‘paper cut’ or ‘stabbed myself with a staple’ into an accident book. 

Which brings me to the sight I saw before me this afternoon. Ivie and I came out to the shed to have a cuppa before I started writing. He finished his coffee and announced he was off to chop kindling and get the fire going in the house. 

As he walked across the grass, I happened to notice that he was wearing his slippers. TO GO AND CHOP WOOD! 

It makes me wonder if the statistics about farmers hurting themselves actually involve farming or just plain stupidity. Answers on a postcard (but watch you don’t cut yourself on the sharp corners). 

Hi De Hi

What I've been thinking about this week:

1. Holidays
2. To do lists

I'm really lucky that my workplace closes down for two weeks over the festivities. It had been pretty non-stop in the run-up so I was glad to close down my emails and switch off my work phone on the 22nd and not think about it too much until about now. 

I'm also really lucky that I enjoy my job so I don't have that back to work dread that many people experience at this time of year. A glance at my Facebook memories reminds me that this hasn't always been the case, although I still stand by my status update from 2011:

"...the first week back at work after Christmas should be like the first week of primary school: in till lunchtime then home for a nap and a change into playing clothes."

I had great plans over the holidays with quite an extensive to do list on the go. So far, all I've managed is washing my walking boots and doing a review of my year. (To be fair, I did try phoning HMRC about my tax bill but gave up after 25 minutes on hold, suspecting that my call wasn't quite as important to them as they would have me believe.)

I still find it tricky sometimes that Ivie doesn't have a traditional 9-5 with free weekends, especially when I've got all this time off and we're hurtling towards lambing time. He might be awake in body from time to time but he won't be 100% conscious and engaged or able to hold a conversation beyond lambing stats - number left to lamb, number of triplets, when he last had a full night's sleep, you know the kind of thing.

Luckily, there's a solution to my need for quality time with my significant other away from the ranch. Meet the campervan that we now co-own with our next door neighbours!

We had our first night in it parked up at Sandhead last night. We had a very rock n roll evening, eating home made curry, watching the dog run herself daft on the beach and playing Scrabble. Scrabble is my 'sport' and Ivie plays me once or twice a year to balance out the actual sport he's tried to get me involved in over the years (none successfully, you'll be surprised to hear).

If Old McDonald played Scrabble

I'm looking forward to more mini breaks, getting to know this corner of the world more. Moving to the Spittal just before the first lockdown got in the way of that a bit, although this week alone we've managed a trip to Cruggleton and getting lost at Kirroughtree. I'm just wondering where else we can squeeze in before lambing 2023 gets underway.... (suggestions welcome!). Now that's a to-do list I can get behind. 

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

There's no place like home

What I've been thinking about:

1. Writing
2. My own bed

Last week, I was lucky enough to attend a writing retreat run by Write South West Scotland. I pootled along the A75 to Brig o Dee, met fellow writers IN REAL LIFE, ate lots of food, star gazed at Threave, ate more food, swam at Mossyard and, you guessed it, ate more food. (By lunchtime on the second day, I had changed into my baggy jeans). 

So far, so good. After four days of listening to amazing writing and a chance to share a bit of mine*, I was planning to pootle back along the A75 and be home well before Saturday lunchtime. But dastardly covid had other ideas. 

Ivie succumbed for the first time and, due to my dodgy immune system, it made sense to stay away. Thankfully, the tutor let me stay for another three days (she came to the Spittal for tea a couple of weeks ago and I think it was Ivie's cheesecake that swung it) so we ate leftovers and caught up with Bake Off and Strictly. 

I thought about my new friends and the gigs, plays and exhibitions they'd talked about going to recently and felt a bit jealous. It can be easy to feel that some things pass us by in Dumfries and Galloway. 

But one of the great things about the week was the chance to see our corner of the world through their eyes. 

• I tend to take a dark, starry sky for granted - others had never seen a shooting star before. 
• I live ten minutes' drive from a lovely, little beach - and most of the time there's no-one else there. 
• I regularly see deer and kites on my morning dog walk - some of my new pals got up early every day in the hope of spotting wildlife. 

I finally got home on Tuesday evening to an enthusiastic spaniel and nearly healthy farmer. I didn't think I'd miss the mud and bellowing bulls but there was something reassuring about the familiar sights and sounds of home (the jury's out on the familiar smells). 

Today included a chat with Lupy while I took a rubbish photo of a rainbow and a walk with Isa and Rudi in the swirling wind. It was a good reminder that there's no place like home, even if I am sleeping in the spare room until Ivie gets around to changing the sheets. I might start taking it personally if he hasn't changed the sheets by this time next week.... 

* One of the stories I wrote was about a tight farmer. They do say write what you know.

New Socks Please, We're British

What I've been thinking about this week:

• Excellent purchases

What I haven't been thinking about this week:

• Socks

One of the things I've found about middle age is how excited I get about buying things that my younger self would have been horrified by. I've never been particularly 'spendy' but there's nothing wrong with simple pleasures. 

This week has been particularly good for online, middle-aged purchases*

• a heated blanket I put over my legs like a Nana when I'm working (so we don't have to put the heating on during the day). 
• an old school paper diary from Germany (it's worth it, honest).
• an old school paper calendar from a small business in Edinburgh (are you detecting a theme here?) 

There have been a few deliveries for the farm this week, too, as Ivie et al get some maintenance done between the summer madness and the winter. Although I asked all the right questions, I'm not sure I could tell you what they've been up to, other than the concreting up by the pens - and that's mainly cos I walk past it with the dog every morning (on the lead so that there are no little pawprints left as a lasting legacy🐾).

A rare moment of calm

I've got used to the couriers arriving in between all the other vehicles coming and going during the day. They're pretty good at delivering farm parcels to the steading, rather than to either of the houses so I didn't pay too much attention to the one that drove past just before lunchtime. I saw the driver open the back door to the van and hand Ivie a package. I assumed it was another sprocket, widget or tractor part so carried on trying to persuade the dog to be calm for five bloody minutes while I heated up the soup. 

Ivie has excellent timing, so he appeared back just as the toast was popping with said package in his hand. It contained socks. Not just one or two pairs, mind you. Twelve pairs of new, heavy duty, promise-not-to-wear-through socks.

Ivie is not spendy: Exhibit A

As we all know, Ivie is even less spendy than I am so there has been a lot of deliberation about these socks. He has mentioned buying new ones on a fairly regular basis for the past month and, I have to say, my interest was waning. 

Here's hoping it's a while before he has to buy something major. Like wellies. 

* It's important to support our local businesses, too, especially in the run-up to the 'C' word. Check out this blog from 2020 that lists some of my favourites. And check out one of my new local favourites, Nest Galloway.