News from The Funny Farm

 Last year was one giddy social whirl of swimming (our next door neighbours have a pool – indoor, heated, don’t fret yourself), several haircuts, numerous wine deliveries from Tesco, visits to dentists, doctors, attendance at meetings of rare breeds, fell ponies, driving (the arse and cart sort, not the four wheeled things) groups -  three holidays, one dinner dance and a couple of lunches.  Whoever said country life was dull?

The Mad Lurcher has her own calendar and that makes for even more startling reading.  In February she had a day at the beauty parlour that cost fifteen quid, which is considerably more than we pay for our own haircuts.  She had a shampoo, clip and trim (beard included), her lengthy fingernails were snipped and her anal glands stripped (you don’t get that at Toni and Guy).  She returned home looking even more gorgeous than usual and smelling divine.  In July she became Champion Crossbred at a local dog show – Katie works on the principle that it is better to have several pedigrees than just a paltry one – and staggered home under the weight of several bags of biscuits, treats and canine tit-bits.  She is a very fine dog indeed.

The cottage continues to be busy and we welcomed several repeat offenders during the year; the sheep continue to thrive and keep us fed, and the ponies, too, are doing well.  Rather too well in Lil’s case - she’s been sent to Pony Weightwatchers.  A little leaner and fitter, she is better able to shift at an alarming speed, if only for short distances so I may need to fatten her up again if only for my personal safety …

Sheepwrecked came out in paperback in August and has been well-received by critics and public.  ASDA has done particularly well with it – I can only assume that I am on a shelf between the ginger biscuits and the Pedigree Chum.  As ever, I get asked to do some very strange things as a result of being an author: opening fetes (worse than death in some cases), going on the Council of the dogs’ home whence Katie Morag came, judging fancy dress competitions, speaking to WI’s and other groups.  It is a mystery to me why people think that because I write, I can talk, but then Malcolm would tell you I talk all the time anyway…

                     In March we had a dog-holiday up on the Mull of Galloway, a secret corner of Scotland and will return this year.  Katie loved the beach, and the pub (a dog-friendly pub at that) was a mere 29 steps away.  We know.  We counted.  In May we took off, as usual to the Hebrides, this year to Colonsay where we fell in with a couple of reprobates from East Anglia, who kindly took us with them across the silver strand to Oronsay.  Dislocation does funny things to the psyche: on the mainland, we would no more get in to a vehicle with two chaps we had met the day before in a queue in Oban, than para-glide off Skiddaw – nor, I dare say, would they pick up strangers, but then, and there, it struck us all as perfectly sensible.  Friendships flow from such insanity, happily.  In September, we had a family holiday on Corsica and in October we went to Cracow

Back at the Funny Farm, we never tire of looking out of our windows at our own little bit of England but being built into the hill, it is difficult to take full advantage of the views.  A conservatory or any other sort of extension would need sky-hooks, and we have struggled to find a way of bringing the outside in but we have now decided to add a balcony on the back of the house – once we can kidnap the builder of course.   We already have the chairs – thank you Homebase sale – and a local farmer (he never really wanted to be a farmer, he wanted to be a blacksmith and now he’s retired, he is) is making a pot-bellied balcony for us. The fun will really start when we knock the hole in the outside wall for the door.  Our outside walls are three feet thick at their thinnest point.  Hardcore, anyone?