I went phone shopping today.
Now, I use my phone in a very basic manner: I make calls; send text messages and take photos. That's it. I don't do apps; imps; wizards or whatever . . . I'm hopelessly technophobic.
However, as it's soon to be my birthday, I had persuaded he-who-believes-he-should-be-obeyed that I needed a phone with a better camera . . . he was delighted with the suggestion; it saved him having to do any lateral thinking or, even worse, having to guess my bra size if I asked for lingerie . . .
So, bright and early, the girls and I hit the High Street.
Have you seen the price of phones ?! Whatever a megapixel may be, it cannot possibly be worth nearly a whole calf . . . Or four lambs !
Suitably horrified, I frogmarched the girls away from all the bright, shiny things and into a dingy little second hand electrical shop. . .
There it was; an old model, but with twelve of those megapixel thingys . . . A bargain at seventy pounds.
"You know Mummy," mused my eldest, "that phone's pretty much as good as those posh ones. It's just tattier, that's all."
Pretty much like meself, methinks !
Tuesday, 6 August 2013
Sunday, 4 August 2013
August 4th
Woke yesterday to what appeared to be a great combining day. The sun was shining and the breeze was just right.
He-who-believes-he-should-be-obeyed duly hopped onto the quad to nip down for a final check . . .
Yup, the barley was most certainly ready . . .
Moreover, he wasn't the only one to agree that it was, indeed, quite ripe enough; thank you very much !
We had had a breakout; a revolt, pandemonium on the back benches: The cattle had stormed the Bastille; taken out the fences and elevated al fresco dining to an entirely new level. . .
The bull was looking decidedly mutinous and, whilst there could be no doubt that his bulk would have played a huge part in the operation, he's a lot more more brawn than brain . . .
The Intelligence could only be . . . The silver Charolais . . . ! I do have a soft spot for her . . . She's trouble, but anything that will jump a five-bar gate whilst eight months pregnant deserves a round of applause !
Eventually, after he-who-believes-he-should-be-obeyed had exhausted his entire back catalogue of Ye Olde English Curses and sweated more than a few buckets, we were done by nightfall . . . ready to bale the straw this morning . . .
Until the hailstones came !
Which forecast predicted that ?
He-who-believes-he-should-be-obeyed duly hopped onto the quad to nip down for a final check . . .
Yup, the barley was most certainly ready . . .
Moreover, he wasn't the only one to agree that it was, indeed, quite ripe enough; thank you very much !
We had had a breakout; a revolt, pandemonium on the back benches: The cattle had stormed the Bastille; taken out the fences and elevated al fresco dining to an entirely new level. . .
The bull was looking decidedly mutinous and, whilst there could be no doubt that his bulk would have played a huge part in the operation, he's a lot more more brawn than brain . . .
The Intelligence could only be . . . The silver Charolais . . . ! I do have a soft spot for her . . . She's trouble, but anything that will jump a five-bar gate whilst eight months pregnant deserves a round of applause !
Eventually, after he-who-believes-he-should-be-obeyed had exhausted his entire back catalogue of Ye Olde English Curses and sweated more than a few buckets, we were done by nightfall . . . ready to bale the straw this morning . . .
Until the hailstones came !
Which forecast predicted that ?
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