We have staff you know. When I say 'we' what I really mean is The Crofter. And not it's not Mum and Dad - bless their cotton-mix socks but rather Shaun helping out today on his day off from his proper job.
The new staff waiting for orders
Shaun is a really hard worker having helped with the apportionment fencing some time back. You can see this from the snap above. Obviously, he's the one with his hands in his pockets waiting for orders and his bucket of tea. In no time Shaun had been promoted to executive level and was shovelling s , s , stuff from the pig hutches.
I left him to it and ventured into the barn where I found Dad Crofter doing un-thinkable things to an ex-chicken - no longer nailed to its metaphorical perch. I came home soon after.
Yay, eleven piglings have arrived! Granted it was a few days ago but now word got to me, I'd loaded the camera with film, bothered to walk down the road and everything, the blimin things are snuggled in their little warm centrally-heated hoosey refusing to come out for a photo-call. At least, refusing to come out for a photo-call in the moments I was there and outside, in-between the heavy and persistent hail and rain.
I stood under a roofette of the roofy place just by the hutch where the piglings were residing, ready to leap into action and pap them up. If the wetness would stop. It didn't much so I took delight in what I could see from my dryish perch - the coils of pipe stuff, the hail bouncing off The Crofter and Crofter's Dad's heads as they carried out what was left of the big pig-hutches after the piggies has leant on them, chewed them and let off wind in the general direction of the hutch wall. On second thoughts that last bit may have been The Crofter himself. Never mind, the hutch wall needed to be changed so that the soon to arrive more piglings have another nice warm hoosey to eat.
That's a sausage growing there in case you are wondering. Little lamb inside all mashed up and everything. How lovely that is. For meat eaters perhaps. Less so for us more sensitive types - and the lamb. Still, it's the sort of thing Mr Crofter does on a dull day.
Meanwhile, a duck is enjoying the dampness outside. Maybe it's the only thing that does enjoy the weather like this.
Please don't tell me the snap is blurred. I've just looked out the window and it all looks like that. And the horizon is sloping. Granted I'm just out of bed but believe me, it feels like this if not 'looks' like this. Actually, despite the forecast weather, the sun is out - so I can see little at all through my salt encrusted windows.
All the same I imagine The Crofter is just wrapping his lips around a bowl of pig-pellets or whatever he has for breakfast these days. He is working hard after all with the tooth factory going full tilt, smoke pouring out of it's metaphorical chimney as the pearly whites come off the artisan production line. Although, the locals will be pleased to hear, not today.
There's The Crofter's regulation bucket of builders tea on his work bench next to the tooth-makers Bunsen-burner. It keeps the tea warm longer you see.
Oh look, there's The Great Man himself doing 'things' with Mum Crofter making sure he does it properly.
It's all gone a bit misty outside. [remember this is NOT today eh? ], perhaps there's a mystery to be solved. That's what happens when a mist swirls about surely? The mystery is where is Dad Crofter? Oh here he is, look through the oblong metal doors and he's spraying water all over the place cleaning off the s**** from the wheeled box for transporting animules thing.
On the Isle of Lewis off the west coast of mainland Scotland lies a croft inhabited by an English off-comer. His Mum and Dad live nearby and help him run the croft. This is a photographic record of their lives as it unfolds.