She's Not Herneschase... shes a very naughty girl

When leaping out to get some cash to pay the farrier this morning I switched on National Radio. A Lovely plummy Hingerlish lady - a (quote) "filmaker from London" was pleading for a Gordon Brown Looky-Likeys to e-mail her.

They have apparently scoured England and Scotland for someone with "brooding looks" and a "Heathcliffe quality" but can't quite match him. They have searched "butcher's shops, dairy farms, and lots of places where people who eat well might be" WHAT? The Motherland is being run by an over-indulgent Heathcliffe character who hangs about in Butcher shops and Dairy Farms?

They apparently went to Glasgow but due to a "bad case of rickets" the inhabitants were all too small. Is this a recent epidemic of rickets? Or are we referring to a particularly virulent episode in the 1800's which has affected the entire population for generations? I am surprised Celtic or Rangers ever manage to win a game with such a heritage

Well, our plummy friend went on to say that she has even extended their search as far as Fife (so that's the whole of Scotland covered then ) but to no avail and they are wondering whether he has Russian blood. Presumably all other Celtic communities have been excluded - We're just sticking to Scotland and Russia then eh?

Anybody from Kiwiland who feels that they resemble our esteemed leader (for we are renowned for our vast Russian ghettos) is asked to contact said film-maker immediately.

Damn! I wish I had known. There was a massive Scottish Heritage stand at the Agricultural Show yesterday I could have recruited for her and, just to save time, I would have weeded out the ricket-ridden Glaswegians for no extra charge

These are very obviously desperate times

"RIP Grandma Not"

Wot a day yesterday was.

We were just leaving for Mog’s big day with her calves and Mr Not decided to ring Grandma Not. Poor love rang just as his Mum died. Luckily, peacefully and at home and this was how she, and the rest of us wanted it.

Isn’t it strange the way things like that happen? Both LC and I woke up 5 minutes before the phone rang me to tell me my Mum had died. I am sure we are all tuned in to those we love.

Mr Not astounded me. He had a quiet few minutes and then just upped and loaded the horsebox with the two calves and got on with the day for Mog. It probably helped that the last thing Grandma said to Mog on Friday was “go and enjoy yourself and take loads of photos for me”. So that is what we did ... for her!

Mog and her calf won First in her Class and First in her Section and LC (thank goodness or we would never have heard the last of it) won Second in Class and Second in Section! LC then went on to get 4th place in Youth Handler out of about 25 children. They did it for Grandma Not!

So back to reality. Usky has decided to have a break from his recouperation and is coming over to bloh-farm-sit. Daisy-cow is off to meet her new boyfriend today (I am taking a step-ladder as Daisy being half-Angus isn’t exactly petite and her little Dexter boyfriend is tiny!). We will all need earplugs as her baby, Alfie (Garnet) will be distraught with no milk to comfort him!

Then funeral to organise on (your) Monday, flights to book and we will be in the Motherland by next week. The problem seems to be the return flight as everyone seems to be coming home from their travels to start the new University and School term.

I am feeling quite nervous. I have looked forward to coming home for so long. I think I am now worried that the reality won’t live up to the memory. Mr Not is so disparaging about 'Hingerland'; the crime, the dirt etc, etc and always says how much he hates the hustle and bustle when he goes home. It has made me think that absinthe has made the heart grow fonder. The kids are just looking foward to the family reunion. I think that is a healthy way to look at a funeral. A celebration of life and of family.

Be on your best behaviour will you? No nasty murders, no major political upheavals ... just for me

The wretched satellite is working to rule today and has been for 24 hours. It has taken me half an hour to download the BCUK site and it is reluctant even to let me write my blog (perhaps the satellite is bored with my inane waffling ) As a result I am probably not going to be able to read anyone else’s blog tonight unless I stay up until at least 4am but I will try and catch up at some stage tomorrow.

So, today? Well, things took a turn for the worse for ‘Grandma Not’ back in the Motherland. We had just put the telephone down this morning from one of our regular phone calls when I received an email from Brother-in-Law Not, asking us to phone him. It transpires that Grandma has been told by her Doctor that she has days, rather than weeks left to live. A horrible thing to hear when you are completely compos-mentis and it is just your body that is giving up on you.

It has become a game of Chinese whispers. In the same In-box, we also received an email from Sister-in-Law Not to say that the two sisters are arranging a care rota and asking whether Mr Not can be involved. She is then obviously of the opinion that Grandma has a great deal more stamina (or is hoping that she does).

It is at times like this that I thank my lucky stars I was an only-child! No bickering or in-fighting disguised under the wide-brimmed hat and dark glasses of “concern”. It was just me, my Mum and a couple of knackered Junior Doctors!

So looks like I may be blogging from the Motherland in the very near future. My cousin has offered to kidnap me so that I don’t have to come back. I actually quite like the idea of spending the rest of my life holed-up in Lancashire with my Cousin and the advantage is that she would be quite happy to kidnap the children too as part of the deal!

The headache now is how to get everything sorted out here. Animals who need Zinc capsules so that they don’t develop facial eczema whilst we are away, a Farrier to shoe the horses before we go, a horse sitter for the pony who gets laminitis at the drop of a hat, a farm-sitter, a rabbit sitter, a chicken sitter. In fact lots of people with very flat bottoms.

I have just discovered, quite by accident, the website
http://www.lapdauthors.com

Why, oh why? What do they write about? Perhaps I should investigate. Unfortunately I can’t tell you any more cos I never got past the “Police Gifts” pages!!!

So this is what a US Police Office does on his day off! Obviously, they're not content with a day of donut-eating and chasing bad guys (or did I watch too much Strapsky and Crutch as a child?). They come home after a hard day's crime-fighting to play with their miniature police officer models, toy police cars (my favourite being the "Erector" remote-controlled police car) and their wives dressed in the Officer Naughty WPC outfit!!!

My personal favourite was listed amongst the Police Clothing Gifts – the black T shirt printed on both sides with the words “Psyche Ward” Nuff said!

PS: who was policing the Police demo' in London today? Good luck boys you'll need if you are trying to squeeze money out of old Gordon!

So tell me. What posessed the Scots to choose a thistle as their National emblem? Yes, it is quite a pretty colour, yes it is relatively regal looking but I tend to think this is because I was conditioned to think of a thistle as Regal... until today.

You have heard me rattle on about my ragwort and the continued battle therewith. It is certainly a smaller crop this year than it was last but the thistle

Our predecessor was obviously either blind or an enthusiastic collector of weeds

... Oops sorry I am not supposed to call them weeds anymore. We in Kiwiland call them 'Plant Pests' I know that cos I did a course and they told me! By calling them plant pests they can eradicate lovely edible pretty old nasturtiums, those pretty feathery pampas grass that people in Surrey grow in their front gardens and the scary, nasty threatening blackberry bush, amongst others!

Any road up, back to my thistle Today I pulled out an entire trailer of the stuff. Not just your common or garden Thistle! I have every variety! George Bush's favourite; the Californian Thistle, the Nodding variety, Scots thistle (which they often irritatingly called "Scotch Thistle" over here and Plumeless ones too. I have arms like a pin-cushion and a lovely builder's bottom type red burnt stripe between my shorts and my T-shirt. My Goblin I'm attractive!

Now I was told confidently that goats would eat the thistle! Yeah right! I have the most spoiled goats in the World. Billy Muggins finally decided today that if I was 'eating' it then it might be worth a try but the silly object nibbled the flowers and then spat them out on the field to re-seed and went back to chewing Honey-horse's tail (they are in the throws of a tempestuous love affair. Anyone want a Hoat?)

... and still it comes. Rain, rain, rainity-rain! But at least the grass is the right colour again and it is visibly growing so who am I to moan. Oh yeah I am hingerlish and genetically programmed to moan about the weather

Today is an intense one. We have to continue the training of the poor beleaguered calves for Sunday's Agricultural Show. During the first three days we had progressed from mule-like to not quite so mule-like so the children were becoming quite dis-heartened. Yesterday morning one of them - Gracey - had gone on complete work to rule. Time for a change of tactics

Yesterday afternoon I spent 2 hours sitting on the floor of a stable looking at my feet. It worked. They came up to me and had a lick of my wellies. Then I brought the 'Not Girls' in and they sat quietly too which was quite an effort for my girls (another half an hour) The next stage was to put lead reins on them and sit quietly (another half an hour) and then the big move outside into the yard for 'walking up and down' training!

By 5pm we had them both able to walk independently without 'Gracey calf' performing her big Rodeo leaps and pulling Mog or I across the yard.

We did, of course, adopt an quite controversial training method into our regime. "The Labrador Cow" technique©! Never heard of it Lindow? Well it's like this:

Step One: Cuddle your black Labrador who apparently does a passable impression of a baby Dexter!

Step Two: Put him on a lead and walk him up and down.

Step Three: Lead the Dexters up and down behind him (calling the Labrador a 'good cow' throughout the process is an optional extra!).

Step Four: Tie one of the calves to the fence and just perform the exercise with the Labrador and one heifer.

Step Five: Alternate heifers

Step Six: Send Labrador home for his tea and work with the heifers on their own. Works like a dream.

So today, I am under no illusion that we will have to start all over again from the beginning. I hope Gus is up to another day as a Labrador-Cow

But first to pursuade three children to eat yet MORE scrambled eggs!

I'm all exhausted after a big old debate with Mr Not 'bout Palestine and the current deterioration therein.

To set the scene. Mr Not is a very apolitical soul, which always induces a seething frustration from his wife who gets hot under the collar and jumps up and down waving her 'tiny' fist at most political situations be they local governmental or larger debates played out on the World stage. (I personally blame my Leftism on my maternal Grandma's constant declaration of her love for Anthony Wedgewood Benn when I was a toddler!)

Oops sorry! So to draw myself kicking and screaming back to the point in hand. Today I awoke to my usual half-an-hour of Sky News before day-to-day chaos ensues to find that the fuel blockade to Palestine was reaching fever pitch and gas, food, UN aid etc etc weren't getting through causing total devastation in the Gaza Strip. The worst situation in 7½ years and all very scary.

My reaction to news items such as these is to hit the internet at some stage during the day to try and read more around the subject. My usual source of information regarding Palestine is usually Gilad Atzmon's website (great Jazz musician and Israeli Jew, 15 days my junior, with more first-hand experience of what the Middle East Peace Process means day to day than anyone I have ever heard speak). Next I tend to try the BBC and then if all else fails a general Google on the subject usual puts the subject straight in my head.

Lots of reading later, I came across a blog called Peacepalestine which then sparked a bit of a 'chat' with Mr Not about politics!

Suffice to say that his opinions differed from mine slightly! Dismissive of the whole situation was an understatement with a dash of "what do you expect me to do about it" thrown in for good measure!

Grr Grr Boil, boil, spit

Maybe if all the Mr Nots in this World got together and thought they could make a difference, they would be able to improve the World just a jot (or, on second thoughts, maybe things would be a whole lot worse )

Finally, to change tack completely, we all sat down as a family tonight (a rare occurence) to watch the TV1 tribute to Sir Edmund Hillary which was inspiring to say the least. What a determined bloke and I didn't realise that he had been so personally involved in setting up schools, hospitals etc in Nepal as a result of his experiences.

So that's my day dayed and now I am off to my comfy old, safe old bed. Nighty morning

Oh Usky all this Interesting Title stuff is playing havoc with my creative juices And that Archivist is eating all the jaffacakes I have specially imported from the Mothercountry

In a desperate attempt to make my K2-sized ironing pile more palatable, I decided to watch the Documentary Channel yesterday afternoon. Ironic really as I had spent most of the previous evening lecturing the kids on why they shouldn't turn on the TV willy-nilly during the day

Low and behold, a docco (see I can speak Kiwiese!) on the McLibel Two (Helen Steel and David Morris) who spent years battling with Maccy Ds and, then more years taking on the British Government in Strasbourg over the British Libel laws. It was absolutely fascinating and inspiring to boot. Made me wish I had entered that Kiwi TV promotion to name their new burger after all. Really not sure they would have gone for that Sh** burger thing though. Perhaps Nots not ready to take on the World just yet

Any road up. Today I have decided that I need to take up some sort of study. Not “Mosaics” or “Flower Arranging for the Blue-rinsed Citizen” but something vaguely academic. Not sure what though. Rather drawn to History, but not Kiwi History so that idea’s not going to work. Always wanted to do an Anthropology Degree (not sure the local school do night-classes in amateur Anthropology!). Then there is always Ingerlish. Humpf

Do you think this is the makings of a mid-life crisis? I thought I had passed mid-life long ago. Perhaps I am destined to live longer than I thought. If this is my mid life then I am due to live ‘til I’m 90. How will I celebrate my 90th birthday. Should I book a hall now? What about the catering?

Aw forget it. Back to the cows

PS rain, rain we have RAIN. Proper rain that has gone on all night and made the whole place misty and invisible ...dances off delighted into the sunrise

Oh Usky all this Interesting Title stuff is playing havoc with my creative juices And that Archivist is eating all the jaffacakes I have specially imported from the Mothercountry

In a desperate attempt to make my K2-sized ironing pile more palatable, I decided to watch the Documentary Channel yesterday afternoon. Ironic really as I had spent most of the previous evening lecturing the kids on why they shouldn't turn on the TV willy-nilly during the day

Low and behold, a docco (see I can speak Kiwiese!) on the McLibel Two (Helen Steel and David Morris) who spent years battling with Maccy Ds and, then more years taking on the British Government in Strasbourg over the British Libel laws. It was absolutely fascinating and inspiring to boot. Made me wish I had entered that Kiwi TV promotion to name their new burger after all. Really not sure they would have gone for that Sh** burger thing though. Perhaps Nots not ready to take on the World just yet

Any road up. Today I have decided that I need to take up some sort of study. Not “Mosaics” or “Flower Arranging for the Blue-rinsed Citizen” but something vaguely academic. Not sure what though. Rather drawn to History, but not Kiwi History so that idea’s not going to work. Always wanted to do an Anthropology Degree (not sure the local school do night-classes in amateur Anthropology!). Then there is always Ingerlish. Humpf

Do you think this is the makings of a mid-life crisis? I thought I had passed mid-life long ago. Perhaps I am destined to live longer than I thought. If this is my mid life then I am due to live ‘til I’m 90. How will I celebrate my 90th birthday. Should I book a hall now? What about the catering?

Aw forget it. Back to the cows

PS rain, rain we have RAIN. Proper rain that has gone on all night and made the whole place misty and invisible ...dances off delighted into the sunrise

Now that I have provided Usky with the original and inspired title he requested, here is a scintillating account of my day. You know you're interested
You are
Go on you are
OK you're not That's a coincidence cos I'm Not too

5.30am awoke to sound of daughter's alarm.

5.35 She ignored it.

5.40 I got up and turned it off.

5.41 - 7.10 time unaccounted for due to semi-comatosed state

7.10 made sludgy coffee in expresso machine cos forgot to insert rubber seal

7.15am staggered down to farm, sludgy coffee in hand to catch unruly calves

8.45 gave up trying to train heifers to be ruly (which one can only assume is the opposite of unruly )

9am cooked breakfast - how else are we going to get rid of 56 eggs a week?

9.15 - 10am was bombarded with rude comments from family about repeated eggy breakfasts

10.01am Children invited troop of friends over to see new calves

12.30 got rid of all the kids (including mine own) and attacked the ironing

4 - 4.59pm lost the will to live having buried myself in non-wrinkly clothing and then hid (you know, like Anne Frank) to write some emails

5pm Discovered by Mr Not who immediately recognised that I was not Anne Frank and asked me to move some cattle

5.01 - 6.05pm Collected children and made tea

6.06pm It rained for the first time since before New Year

6.08pm Stopped raining

6.09 - 6.59pm Scavenged around for something edible to cook on a barbecue

7pm ate revolting barbecue and decided I hated white bread

7.20pm to 8.29 pm contemplated doing more ironing and decided that talking to children was far more entertaining.

8.30pm finally wrestled two children to bed

8.31 to 9pm Tried to mend elder daughters iPod which has been killed by younger daughter amidst much acrimony and screaming

9.01pm - 9.29pm Compressed things and added things to eldest daughters computer in an attempt to revive said iPod.

9.30pm sat down in front of another computer to do bloggity things

11.12pm Bed. Nighty morning

When we first arrived in Kiwiland, we travelled around in a campervan for 4 weeks. It was then that our fate was sealed by Mog.

We were on the Ferry from Picton (S.Island) to Wellington when Mog spotted a cattle truck piled high with white-faced moos. She asked where they were going and Mr Not (not being particularly good at child psychology) told her that they were off to be slaughtered at, what is known over here as "the works". Cue half and hour of sobbing from Mog

To pacify her Mr Not agreed that she could have a house cow when we bought a few acres. Yes, it could be called Wellington (Mog failed to see the irony of a beef cow called Wellington") and it could be a Dexter (her favourite cow - small cute and black!)

We never gave it another thought but Mog did... Two years' later, having spent ages acquiring title for the land, she collared a local Dexter breeder at an agricultural show and then proceeded to stalk her at every Ag' show that Season. When we first setting up a herd Mog insisted we phone this lady (whose number she had saved!) and talk about buying 'a couple' of Dexters. So, last July we took delivery of Faithful and Elegant ( pre-named!!) pregnant Dexter heifers.

Cos they are a rare breed here, Dexters are quite expensive so we make our money on White-Faces (ie Hereford X) and Angus X stock and use the proceeds to build up the Dexter herd which now consists of Daisy, her baby 'Alfie' (stud name Garnet), Elegant, Faithful, Grace and Geneva. By July when Ellie and Faith calf we should have 8 in Mog's herd! By crikey she is determined

I was a rabid veggie for 20 years (ironically, red meat doubles me up with abdominal cramps) but living in New Zealand makes vegetarianism pretty difficult so I have made a concession to eat fish and chicken now.) Breeding cows for the table is not really my thing. Luckily we don't have the space to keep them until death do us part so I can put the gory bit to the back of my mind, look after them as pets and sell them on to nice friendly farmers who will give them a happy and healthy final year The Dexters are a long-term investment and will be sold on to other owners of small-holdings to breed and home-kill for the freezer as they think fit. They tell me that this is the way in which the breed will continue.

In the meantime, Mog set her alarm for 5.30 this morning so that she could go down to the shed in the cool and halter-train, groom and cuddle the two new girls in preparation for next week's breed show. It is a pretty tall order considering the girls were only weaned last week and are new to being handled. The calves were given to her with showing in mind and she plans to troll around the country (with us in tow!) making her girls look pretty and promoting the breed.
I can just imagine her in 20 years time - The Barbara Woodhouse of the bovine world The other two children really don't get her but nod sagely and indulge their sister

Well that is the story of how a couple of poms were forced into playing farmers!

Today started off pretty badly. It annoyed me that the Kiwi press appeared to be covering up the murder of Karen Airns - she got about 4th place on National Radio this morning after George Bush's tax cuts and some other inconsequential rubbish. The big problem seems to be that her horrific murder happened on the eve of the A1 Grand Prix motor-racing event, which is expected to attract 40,000 visitors and will be broadcast to more than 150 countries. Shock horror! To think that she might reduce the tourist statistics.
It seems that only the murder of overseas tourists get any real press. The other murders and beatings etc this week are just a part of every day life.

I am sure the two couples attacked with baseball bats on the North Shore of Auckland on Monday and hospitalised, will be relieved that they have not interrupted any major tourist events.

Anyway, stepping off my battered old soap-box, I should really say that the day improved in leaps and bounds as it progressed. Mog had been promised a calf by a friend - for no reason other than she was Mog and is so terribly motivated and in love with beef farming.
It was a wonderful treat and Mog intends to show said calf at all the Agricultural and Pastoral (A&P) shows in the vicinity.

We were due to borrow a second calf to keep her company so we could halter train them together but as we signed all the TB transfer documents etc today, our friend said "well you had better keep the other one too". We were flabbergasted as this increases our Dexter herd to 7 with two calves on the way in June.

So tonight we have two more newly-weaned Dexter heifer calves sitting in our yard. They are bellowing for their Mums as if their hearts will break but are otherwise well catered for and unaware of the pestering Mog has in store for them this week in her attempt to halter train them.

I am dreading the weaning of our Alfie who is so addicted to his Mum's milk that he has a constant milky moustache! Typical male! I think that we may have to wait until his Mummy Daisy is shipped off to see the Bull in a month or so or the will be breaking fences to maintain their bond.

See days are never ALL bad (for me anyway)

Oops, how careless. Now the MoD have lost their laptop. You know, the one with the details of 600,000 recruits or potential recruits to the Navy, Marines or RAF. This time only their passport and NI numbers have gone astray ... oh yeah and their bank details.

That's 25 million PLUS 600,000 ... now I never was any good at maths
Perhaps we should all be bound by the Official Secrets Act just in case we find something we shouldn't.

Being a bit of a Luddite, I am starting to think that filing cabinets and locked doors with keys were a very good idea

I had found myself becoming increasingly grumpy this morning. The sort of irrational grump that exacerbates : and exacerbates : until you feel you are going to blow. Then came the antedote. Thank goodness for children

LC arrived in my bedroom as I was getting dressed and announced that she was worried. I adopted my concerned face and asked her what the problem was.

"I think Mog's Tamagotchi is becoming incontinent" she said peering intently at a small green ovoid piece of plastic that was dangling from her neck by a tape. "I have cleared up it's poo 3 times and it is still there".

10 minutes later Mog arrives.

"You know that sunscreen in the bathroom"
"Yup"
"It says it's anti-aging"
"Yup"
"Does that mean that you still get the presents but you don't look any older?"

The grump is easing ... just slightly. Another gem from JT and it will be cured

http://www.nzherald.co.nz/category/story.cfm?c_id=30&objectid=10487281&ref=rss

Another poor backpacker seems to have fallen into the trap of believing that New Zealand is a crime-free country where she can drop her guard.

A 26 year old lass has now been brutally attacked, raped and killed in Taupo. Another backpacker and by the sound of it and, seemingly, another either gang- or a "P" fuelled attack.

In 2005 Birgit Brauer, a German backpacker was picked up I believe hitch-hiking, beaten, stabbed and murdered in the New Plymouth area by a Methamphetamine addict with 65 previous convictions which included abduction and rape ten years' earlier.

Since I have lived in NZ we have seen tourists attacked in their campervans, killed on roads by (to use the vernacular) young "hoons" in cars, tourists robbed and verbally abused in public places

I think I have blogged before about the state of the drinking culture over here appears to be 'get it down your neck before it runs out' and "P" has become a reluctantly accepted part of the country's culture. This, together with the burgeoning gang culture and the fact that kids can learn to drive at 15, means that there are 4-wheeled time bombs on our roads from about midday every day.

I have always been a confident driver and have historically enjoyed walking about the grottier areas of towns and cities to satisfy the amateur anthropologist in me. Here though, I might say, I am not confident about either pastime. New Zealand is the only place in the World that I have felt threatened walking through a shopping centre (in Northland) in broad daylight with my children.

Yes, New Zealand is beautiful, yes it a 'must' for all kids on their travels but please, please if you know of anyone (especially a female) visiting New Zealand warn them that the crime-free image is a thing of the past. Don't accept drinks from strangers or leave your drink unattended. Don't hitch lifts. Don't park your campervan unless it is in a recognised site or a built-up area. Don't leave your belongings in vehicles. Just behave as you would in London, Manchester Liverpool etc., Keep yourselves safe.

It is a poor country with its problems and bearing in mind the size of the population, it is every bit as troubled by crime as any other country.

I need advice please!

Those of you who have seen my various bloggity incarnations over the past year will know that I am interested in, but not particularly committed to, religion per se.

I was brought up CofV ("Church of Village" the religion where everyone wonders what hat Mrs so-and-so is wearing and meditates whilst guzzling communion wine, on whether their Sunday roast is incinerating in the oven at home).

I discovered Buddhism in the 80s and read and read about that for a while. In the 90s married a lapsed Catholic with a very committed Mother and Father who naturally wanted their son married a Catholic () and their grandchildren baptised Catholic too (double )

Then came lots of reading about Paganism - which was more natural to me as my rural up-bringing had meant that my life was very closely bound to the Seasons and to my history. More recently I have been fascinated by Islam and have launched myself into a pocket home-structured course on Islamic studies just because.

So, when Mr Not's parents came to visit us in 2006 I thought I would work with them on the religion thing. We all marched off to Mass on Sundays (some of us more willingly than others) and on the last weekend of their trip, Mog, always keen to indulge her Grandma, brought back a little plastic squeezy bottle of "Holy Water" which I have just re-discovered on a bookshelf in the kitchen!

So here are my questions:

Question 1: What does Holy Water Do?
Question 2: Where should it be sprinkled?
Question 3: Does it have a "use by" date? This was blessed in October 2006
Question 4: Can it be sprinkled by a heathen like me?

Tell you what though this religion thingy seems to be helping Grandma in her battle against the evil "C" Seemingly faith is thing not to be sniffed at.

We've had horrid news from the Mothercountry. Grandma's cancer is spreading rapidly and with a terrible finality that is now necessitating mutterings of Morphine pumps and spinal cord involvement.
Grandma continues to be totally aware of everything that is going on and very much in control, despite being weak and resorting to a wheelchair nowadays.

Mr Not and I were discussing whether it was better to be like this or, more akin to his Dad who was too world-weary and weak and to care. What must be scary for Grandma is that she has witnessed all this first hand with her husband less than 12 months previously and, having the same diagnosis, all the same symptoms are recurring.

The grumpiness levels in Mr Not have increased two-fold in 24 hours. Isn't it funny how people react to emotion in different ways? I almost wish he would pace the house weeping, wailing and ringing his hands. I'm not good at 'sad' either and remember that my response to my parents' deaths was to bottle it all up and throw myself into life in a very (almost overly) business-like manner. There's nowt so queer as folkies.

Now the big debate: Go home now and see her for one last time (and risk upsetting the children who remember her as a relatively fit and healthy person) or wait until the inevitable happens. I would prefer the former but Mr Not the latter. I'm not a funeral person and think she would derive much more from seeing everyone for a flying-visit than from knowing we are scavenging the charity shops of NZ hunting for black clothing. Watch this space

I am afraid that this is probably too big a file to permit me entry into Davidjohn's Portrait Competition but I hope nobody (least of all the subject) minds me blogging her anyway.

She was part (in fact I think the teacher) of a Belly Dancing Group who gave a couple of demonstrations at 'things' I went to in or around 2001 or 2002. My husband also has a screen saver photo of her daughter who is just stunning in greens and purples. She has such a peaceful face and I love the golds and reds that surround her.

Yesterday I had a phonecall from my local bookshop to say that a book I have had on order since September has finally come in (political books have to be shipped in from London 'specially apparently!

Anyway, I answered my little mobile amidst lots of crackling because we were 15 minutes north of Auckland and had lost signal already. The caller at the other end was rolling about in hysterics and screaching "I must get everyone to ring you. It's the funniest thing I have ever heard" Crackle... crackle... complete loss of signal Who she?

So about 2 hours later another phonecall - it was the lady who runs the bookshop (she has a very distinctive deep, sultry voice so it is easy to recognise). "Where did you get it?" she hooted.
"Get what?"
"The ring one"... and then it dawned on me.

The kids and I had been playing around with the mobile the other day and had bought a ring tone. When anyone phones my mobile a very plummy English Gent in the background asks if they are phoning me..(by name) He then continues to question "very popular? Popular with the boys? Gets lots of hits on Myspace? Blogging? Likes Blogging?" (well it seemed appropriate )

The entire bookshop was in an uproar. They all want one and had to phone to listen to it. I am glad I made somebody happy

Been there, done that. Found decent Pale Ale, drank it in copious amounts. Listened to The Braggster, completely wound my 13 year old daughter into an "I must go home NOW" frenzy. Had a nice chat with a Weymouth supporter and his wife who had been here for 13 years. Put up with loads of apolitical Kiwis simpering around Bill like he was bloomin' Britney Spears I am so used to seeing him at gigs where he just sits down with a pint afterwards and chats that the simpering Pop-star crap rankled quite a bit. One woman behind us who announed that she thought he was too pissed to come on stage and that her 10 year old wanted to sing with him on stage. WHAT ? The poor bloke had just endured a 36 hour flight and a day in Auckland before trying to execute all the old stuff for a completely apolitical Kiwi crowd in ridiculous lighting with the most abysmal accoustics I have ever heard outside the 80s college disco. Luckily he opened with a lovely rendition of "Diggers All" English political history which zoomed right over the Kiwi mullets and played some lovely stuff from the soon-to-be album.

So, as a result of this gig, we discovered a lovely little seaside resort with excellent snorkling about an hour North of Auckland. They had experienced a shark attack the previous day which had made all the papers and completely put LC off her planned swim!

On the way home we spent the morning in K-Road (the old red light district of Auckland which has now become a passable charity shop mecca and mini-chinatown. LC went bonkers. $5 retro' clothes, and all the sort of thing her Dad would hate her to wear! Perfect! She has even chosen a totally unsuitable red strapless pencil dress to wear with New Rock Boots and fishnet tights to her (as yet alive and kicking) Grandma's funeral! Surprisingly, Mr Not said that if she swopped the fishnets for opaque black tights and she wore a jacket over it, he might allow it!

On that very subject, Grandma seems to have taken a turn for the worse. She's currently in a hospice having her pain controlled. She is a real inspiration as she is being so brave and stoical.

It couldn't be at a worse time regarding morale as both LC and I are ready to jump ship and hide out forever in the Mother-Country for a little bit of civilisation - decent books, decent music and intelligent conversation. I think, if Mr Not is honest he wouldn't take much pursuading either as he misses the professionalism and motivation that he had in his job back home. He would never admit it though as this would mean a dramatic loss of face with his mates.

Well today it was back to earth with a bump. A 7.30am call from the Hay Man that he would be delivering 150 bales this afternoon. I think he plans to spin it into gold à la Rumplestilzkin as the price has risen by $3.50 this year (or is it that "Stupid Pom" tattoo on my forehead again!) The tractor man also rang to say that he would be servicing the tractor at the same time. He is a lovely Icelandic immigrant of about my age who is really refreshing to talk to, so I never object to him visiting. Then LC announced that two children were coming to stay for two days. All calm at the Not abode then

I have tried to upload LC's bootleg video of Mr Bragg singing but I am too IT-challenged to cope. Never mind, the thought was there Here are some of her photies that looked great on our computer but look exceedingly crap when blogged!!

Nighty morning

Are here we are at last. This must be Sauda Arabia
“Hey You!” “Yeah, You with the Tea Towel. Do you know where I can find the King Abdullah?”

“No, I’m not selling Tupperware. Laura deals with that side of things on these trips. No, these here are military weapons.
Yeah the best in the business and very good value for money ”

“Ah hello King Abdullah Nice to see you again. I promised to drop in so that you could be part of my tour promoting, democracy and peace in the Middle East. That’s it, peace ”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look between you and me I really have had enough of that namby-pamby peace crap. Perhaps you would like to take a look in this big case. These are what we in the United Snakes call hardware… military hardware".

"Now I think it would be sensible to broker a similar sort of deal to those we have made in the past with your neighbouring countries. As far as I can remember, the system works like this:
I sell you these nice shiny weapons and then in, let’s say 10 to 20 years’ time, one of my successors will accuse you of warmongering and harbouring lethal weapons, The US will invade your country and bomb the hell out of your innocent citizens? Perfect! Now look at this lovely green one it has an orange button here…..”

Today I trolled off to the Library, intent on doing some poor impoverished musicians out of a decent sized royalty. I quite quickly decided that our library CD collection is either seriously, seriously, crap or the Kiwis have a dodgy taste in music… until

I discovered an Asian Dub Foundation compilation album of Sinead O’Connor singing with the likes of Terry Hall, Massive Attack, Pete Gabriel, Jah Wobblyman etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Then, I found the CD of a band of whom I had never heard (yes me truly, I'd never heard of them They were called 'Nouvelle Vague'. and for $2.00 a CD I decided to wing it ‘cos it contained a cover version of 'Love Will Tear Us Apart'.

One of my unofficial hobbies, over the years, has become the collection of cover versions of Johnny Be Good - you’d be surprised (and probably disinterested ) at how many there are. Recently I have progressed to Love Will Tear Us Apart covers. This is all the fault of Yat-Kha a Tuvan group who released a brilliant album of Tuvan throat music cover versions of various toons.

Well 'Nouvelle Vague' have produced the French equivalent of Yat-Kha’s Albert Kuvezin . A wistful female vocalist called Camille () executes the covers in the style of Inspector Clouseau sings Elevator Musak. It is fantastic. It’s all going on the i-Pod!

Anorak off now, it is getting a bit hot in here

I know I have been a bit prolific today but I found this as I was tidying up this evening and wanted to blog it now before I lose confidence.

It is just a little overdue for his 45th birthday, but I wrote this for a good friend who died of a heart attack on his 21st birthday a few moons ago.

The Irishman

You would never have made old bones
Whatever took you away from us knew that.
Your eyes weren't meant to sparkle from beneath that mop of dark hair
Now your words mock my naivety for eternity.

You haunt my very being
Every empty moment is filled with thoughts of our past

Would our friendship have survived had you lived?
Maybe, like most kids, our destinies would have taken separate paths
Death was nature’s way of making you mine forever, but without the heartache.

You schemed to make me everyone’s destiny except your own.
You gave your blessing to every childish infatuation, but I wanted you.

My imagination now glorifies our time together
My heart craves a perfection that didn’t exist.
I remember every mannerism, every expression
But never the bad bits!

You haunt my very being.
Every empty moment is filled with thoughts of your past.

So why choose Liverpool? It is obvious to me. It's all explained in the lyrics of that Beatles hit:
"Penicillin is in my ears and in my eyes"
Any City with a Penicil Lane would naturally become "The City of Cultures" at some stage.

Forget Ringo Starr, Let's hope Pete Wylie, The Mighty Wah, sang Heart as Big as Liverpool at the opening. Not a dry eye in the house

Hi my name is George Bush and I am planning a trip to the Middle East to talk about Democracy and some peace process or other. Now where should I ask the pilot to land? Maybe I could speak to Hamas in Palestine? They’re a democratically elected political party. Silly idea. What about The Lebanon? I know they have their little problems but their government was elected democratically too. too risky!

I know, The United Arab Emirates – it epitomises all that makes Democracy great in America. The majority of decisions are made from the top by a Royal Families whose right to rule was not in the slightest bit democratically agreed. Perfect! (note to self: must pay a flying visit Florida again before I am booted out of office)

I wonder if I should pop in to see our lads in Iraq at some stage? Just to show them my appreciation . That would just be aren’t there bombs and nasty bangy things in Iraq? I’ll ask them to make a short stop-over in Kuwait where I can have my photo taken with some nice clean men in uniform. Nobody will notice the difference .

Now I have a few moments on this airplane. Must make a “To Do” list. Can anyone here write?

1. Visit Israel for the first time in 8 years and solve Palestinian land issue before I am booted out of office. Who needs the Jewish vote now anyway?

2. Try and persuade my Intelligence guys that they were wrong about Iran closing down nuclear weapons production four years’ ago so that we can bomb another country citing as our motives WMD before I am booted out of office.

Oh yeah and finally:
3. Create World peace before I am booted out of office.

Should get that tied up in a week or so.

So it seems that there has been a touch of Devils and Idle Hands syndrome at BCUK again. The layout has been tweaked once more. Obviously a dull Saturday evening in Chateau Bloggy

Today I have been mostly filling in 'oles with subsoil which reminded me of Bernard Cribbins and led me to sing the "Hole In The Ground" song in a sad Mockney accent for the majority of the day. I really think it should be downloaded onto the old I-Pod for just such an occasion. In fact I should download songs to fit every occasion

"Rawhide" to play when moving the cattle
"The Eton Boating Song" for harrowing the fields (sorry but the Harrow School song is singularly dull)
INXS's "Mystify" for doing the accounts
"Shaddupayourface" to be played when I continue to labour a very un-funny point in a blog post

Great excitement. I have just had an email from an old boss of mine who is planning to come and visit us from the Mother Country

They are shipping over their beautiful classic car and going to take part in the Napier Art Deco Festival. ( No I dont know what sort of car ... it has wheels and an engine and looks like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Isn't that enough?)

Do you think this is my excuse to don floaty scarves and a cloche hat and pretend to be a 1920s earthquake survivor Not sure that my back is up to a Charlestone though

It suddenly struck me this week that, despite all my protestations to the contrary, I am rapidly becoming used to my life in this country. I am growing accustomed to the seasonal routine to the terminology and to some of the National quirks. I am even resigned to being considered lower than the low by some of my fellow men. I no longer care too much if I am ridiculed for being, as one man put it, ‘disabled’ (ie, a Pom and a female one at that). I love my little farm and my moos and my solitude. I do, however, sometimes wonder if we did the right thing bringing the children here and away from a decent education system (yes, really it isn’t all that bad after all!). They do, however, have so much freedom and space and a lovely group of mates here and we seem to laugh a lot more than we ever did before.

I still fret about the loss of my friends. My commitments to the animals have meant that making new ones here has been tough. (present company excepted of course )

I miss quality journalism, (no, not you Mr Murdoch!) and decent TV and radio and my own brand of (ever so dramatically left-wing) politics I miss visits to London for museums, theatre, gigs, parties etc. Even our little suburban Rep’ theatre was an oasis and we now realise how spoiled we were. You really don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.

The biggest hole in my life is the loss of our regular trips to Cornwall to top up the spiritual me and drink decent Cornish ale! Even JT asked yesterday when he could go back to Boscastle to the Witchcraft Museum – we used to try and visit at least twice a year, even after the flood.

Today, whilst poking at the remains of our fire I was reminded of the massive bonfire that my Dad lit on the top of the highest hill in our village back in 1977. Whilst The Sex Pistols were trolling down The Thames on their barge, my mates and I were listening to an old intercom system blasting Top of the Pops albums around Church Hill! A disco I think we called it

This got me thinking how our personal history plays an important role in shaping our lives. We had a tiny school of 36 children back in the day and our main subjects were English, Maths and History – all taught through the medium of religion by an ex-missionary! Ofsted would have had a field day!

As kids, we learned about World history by talking about all the village landmarks - the obligatory Oak tree in which King Charles had hidden (yeah right ) and the forest where Henry the Eighth had hunted (he must have spent all his waking hours hunting ) There had been a POW camp on the very same ‘Jubilee bonfire hill’ and some of the Polish inmates were my friends’ Dads. The local ‘Manor’ had also been an Intelligence Headquarters during WW2. I remember, even at the tender age of 10 or 11, being so impressed by William the Conquerer’s chair in a nearby pub – it probably shaped my politics for ever more!

It makes me smile that my Dad and Mum are now part of the village folk-lore. The things my Dad made and repaired for other villagers are scattered amongst people’s possessions and on display in the pub and the church (both his places of worship) as reminders of their part in our village. Of course, they now lie with most of their mates, overlooking, yes you've guessed it, the Jubilee bonfire hill"

So, today, I took another brave step into the abyss of Kiwidome I sold my first item on Trademe - the NZ version of EBay. Trademe is a National obsession – like muffins, coffee, Milo and Vogels bread. It is really worth a look.

So I am trying (some say very ) but no matter how much I make an effort to make my home here, there is still a great big unbreakable chain pulling me back to all that stuff that makes me, me.

Maybe, one day, in many moons to come, I'll come home to grow old where I belong

Today I discovered some Toblerone. Obviously left-overs from Christmas in two varieties and extortionately priced (as all overseas goods are in this country). I didn't care I had to have it. Proper chocolate and damn the price

So this has prompted today's topic for debate in my family: Toblerone should NEVER be white. Discuss.

LC came back from her trip to Africa with a lovely cook book from the International School who were hosting their trip. She decided yesterday to cook a meal from the book. A three course meal! I was delighted. A whole evening off

Then came my mistake. She showed me what she planned to cook: Tomato and Almond Soup followed by Chicken Tetrazzini; the "Tetra" being pasta, mushrooms and chees and for dessert, Sticky Toffee Pud'.

I was promised faithfully that no frying was involved and that she would be very careful, especially with the toffee bit of the pud'. I trolled off to feed the moos. She's cooked heaps of times before, what could go wrong?

The first hiccup was apparently the lack of "Tetra" ingredients She could only find cheese and pasta - more importantly she couldn't even find chicken! So we had pasta with cheese sauce à la the children's menu at your local Harvester restaurant! It tasted great so no complaints there and JT was relieved there were no mushrooms as he hates 'em.

Then, half way through preparation, came the phone call from the house on my mobile:

"Mum"
"Yes"
"The recipe said to put the soup in a food processor but it all spurted out of the smoothie maker and its all over the kitchen"
"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat? Smoothie makers are for cold things that's why the lid doesn't seal. What state's the kitchen in?"
"I've cleaned up the kitchen and put my clothes in the wash but the burn on my neck hurts"
(another) " Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat " (followed by immense guilt at worrying about the state of my new kitchen when my daughter has 3rd degree burns)

I raced up from the field at double quick time to find my eldest daughter with a scald the size of my hand on her neck, some tiny scalds on her face and a couple on her arm. It looks like it may scar too as it has gone a funny shade of brown. We did all the right things, cling film cold compresses and burn cream for afters.

I'm usually so careful. I really can't believe I left her to her own devices. I think I have been lulled into a false sense of security by her apparent spurt of growing up recently. Never again.

Tonight LC decided that she, Mog and JT were going to sleep in a tent in one of our fields with a friend. The thought of them waking up in the dead of night and blundering into an electric fence in a bid to find the house and a toilet filled me with dread so I have made myself very unpopular and put the kibosh on that little adventure. Isn't parenting complicated.

Embarrassing situation averted. My neighbour and his cows didn't materialise and apparently, I have his his bulls to thank. They deserted the heifers and escaped into the road on Wednesday evening, demolishing one of his fences into the bargain. He obviously thought that he wouldn't risk them in my little field after all

So I was wrong about the weather yesterday .. so very, very wrong. By lunch time it was 26 degrees and humid with a burn time of 2½ minutes. So we all ventured out for our picnic with the promise of music and some beer into the bargain.

Gor Blimey can't the natives pack the booze away. Now I have attended a shed-load of festivals in my time - that misspent youth rearing its ugly bonce again - but boy what an eye-opener this was.

There were lots and lots of varieties of beer on offer, some of them passable designer jobbies, and some of them not even remotely fizzy or cold, but Joe Bloggs wanted what he always drank... his Speights or his Lion Red ... and lots of it.

And the music Three bands playing mainly cover versions or just not-very-good original stuff and then a fourth that were brilliant and well worth the wait. The only time there was any life from the crowd, however, was when somebody played a Crowded House tune. Suddenly, there was life! They knew the words and fairly shouted them at the top of their Lion Red fuelled voices. Oh and the clothes .. did I mention the fashion sense

We left early to avoid the obviously brewing aggro.
The police were in their element! They just set up a road block at about 7.30 and waited for the drink drivers. The whole afternoon was an Anthropological thesis in the making

So, today, I took out any inhibitions I may have on a great big pile of tree branches. There has been a 7 foot pile of them in our field for nearly a year. I started the fire at 10am and still it burns, 14 hours later The kids and I fair flew around the place adding 7 more trailer loads of cuttings and separating out firewood for next Winter. Blimey it was hot. In my excitement I completely forgot to warn my neighbour of my impending conflagration and she had to rush out and remove her washing from the line. Did I mention that all the smoke and heat was heading directly for her timber framed house? Another minus point in the neighbourliness stakes. I had a Fire Permit and I wasn't afraid to use it.

Now I am off to my pit. I'm knackered

If you want rain, get a washing line! So, conversely if you want the weather to cheer up in dear old Blighty you all need to demolish your external laundry drying mechanisms. I am surprised that Michael Fish didn't cotton on to this years ago.

I haven't had a washing line since moving to the farm. This resulted in very, very, dry weather. On Sunday the concrete had set and I finally got my whirly line in place.... and then the rain came. It's fail safe.

There is also Plan B. If you want it to rain, plan a picnic in the park. That seems to have worked too. There is a big black cloud over my shed this morning (like a bright golden haze on the meadow but more gloomy!) Luckily our picnic blanket has a plastic lining!

Hope you all sleep well whilst I squelch beneath you.

For some reason I have had a burst of energy over the past few days. Jobs that have been bugging me for weeks are all done and dusted. I even got around to mending the electric fence in the goat field that Mr Not had managed to cut through with a weedeater before Christmas. Luckily Billy (Goat) Muggins hadn't noticed the chink in my fencing armour and didn't run off to sow his wild oats amongst the girly goats.

I could beat an episode of the Archers into a cocked hat sometimes you know! Yesterday, I found my neighbour sitting by my shed at morning tea-time. (morning tea is an institution to which I am slowly adapting)
We share a water supply and he had come to check why the water had stopped running into my tank which was very sweet of him.

He is a lovely well-meaning bloke but he is the sort of man who would have given God advice on how to create the world. Rather like Harry Enfield's "you don't want to do it like that" character, he knows something about everything and, without a doubt, thinks very little of the Family Not! He always wears a supercilious smirk when he speaks to me and criticises EVERYTHING I say, seemingly just to throw me off balance. He does this especially when there is another male around who he thinks he should impress

Well, yesterday he announced (glancing around with an infuriating grin, at a male friend of mine who happened to be present) that he would do me a 'favour' and graze his cattle in one of my fields as I had let it get too long. I was so surprised that I didn't even glorify this with an answer and think I sort of grunted.

Well, today, I spotted his Ute disappearing down my drive. He had obviously been planning the best route for his mob of moos with a view to moving them into MY field tomorrow. My grunt had been mis-construed as "yes please, that would be lovely".

I now don't really know what to do. Should I ring him and tell him to "moo off" thus risking neighbourly disharmony for ever more or should I just let him exercise his machismo (isnt that a make of motorcycle?) and give him the opportunity to boast for the next few weeks that those Poms can't even graze their own fields properly. I think I might opt for the latter cos (a) I am a total coward and (b) it is good therapy for the locals to feel superior once in a while

LC set me a bad example at Christmas and asked Santa for an I-pod. So impressed was I that I cashed in my credit card loyality points and obtained an I-pod Nano. Re-named I-Pod "Nana" by the rest of the family (apparently I have loaded it with "Nana music" although frankly my Nana never have listened to Fela Kuti and Jah Wobble).

I make no apology for deserting my Blog for so many days as I now have over 4.5 days' of I-poddy music to listen to. I tried it out this evening when pulling ragwort in the back field but forgot to lock the volume and found that it kept turning itself down and then the heavens opened and ruined my fun.

Yep, at last, today, we have rain. Watering the Elton John's hair-transplantesque lawn and the saplings has taken over an hour a day. The lack of rain has also played havoc with our water tanks. We have one tank from a bore to serve the house and another tank fed from the roof of the house to feed the farm. Both have been playing up and at one stage this week, showers and washing machines were on strict ration.

AT THIS POINT THE COMPUTER DECIDED TO PUBLISH MY BLOG WITHOUT PERSMISSION. SO I GUESS THAT WAS A HINT TO SHUT UP.

Never one to take a hint ....

We have now finished our Christmas break and Mr Not, once again, departs the house for his park bench at 7.30am daily. The children and I still have until 7th February to enjoy our relaxed mornings. JT and LC have been taking it in turns to make breakfast whilst Mog and I do farm-type chores and finish them just in time to eat it. Next week LC and I are heading off to see Billy Bragg (whenever a fellow West Ham fan comes to NZ it is customary to hunt them down and commiserate!) We haven't seen him since a Firemen's benefit in about 2003 when LC spent all evening blagging free badges and stickers from Union Reps and grabbing autographs from anyone who would stand still long enough. She came back with "some old man's" signature which turned out to be Ian McLaggan and spent ages showing her autograph book to "someone's Dad" (Glen Matlock!?). Sadly, she is now older and less brazen!

One more silly thing before I head for my bed. We have had a couple of trips to the beach recently (part of my NY's resolution to have a bit of a life beyond the garden gate!) On Sunday evening there was a band playing outside one of the beach bars and a glamorous young lady singing cover versions. Her first number was U2's hit 'Vertigo' which commenced with a rousing cry of ... and I quote... "Uno, Dos, Très, Quatorze" ???? and nobody noticed. Not one person sniggered. Oh yes, well maybe one!

Nighty morning a toute le monde

My son, JT has just brought me a lovely glass of grape juice.
"Oh, when did you buy this?" I asked "I thought we'd run out of juice"
"I didn't buy it, I made it" he said beaming from ear to ear.
He had squeezed each grape individually with a garlic crush!
What more could a woman ask for

Now it may not be her birthday yet in the Mother Country, nor indeed is it her birthday in her adopted country but it is her birthday in Kiwiland so this is her virtual birthday present with my love xxx

I virtually bought you a present
You’re virtually getting quite old
I wrapped it and tied it with ribbon
And wrote on your name, big and bold.

I chose you a comical card
Then pondered on what I should write
I Sucked on my pen for an hour or so
Then jotted “Enjoy it La Spice ”

I feel like I’ve know you for ever
But really, it’s not for that long
So we’ll all raise a glass for your birthday
And sing you the usual song

Happy Birthday hugs xxx

I have a new hobby … tree-napping It all started when I discovered that pittosporum bushes were the equivalent of £11.50 in the shops, I decided to dig up all the self-seeded ones around our fence-line and give them all a new home in all the places that our soil is bare and eroding. Just think of the money I will save (unless it is illegal in which case I will be fined heavily and have to serve a prison sentence!)

Today the obsession began to spiral out of hand. I trolled up and down the road for at least an hour and returned with three Kowhai trees and two baby Black Pine. I will email you all from jail and request a cake and a file should things get out of hand.

So, New Year’s Day wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated. The families Mr Not had invited seemed to get on well. The family with children who were terrified of animals seemed to cope with the fact that two other families had brought extra dogs which increased the dog population to 4.

I spent all afternoon promoting our German Shepherd as the most soppy, friendly, nurturing pooch in the world only to have her scrap with a guest’s 10 year old Labrador over a bowl of Hill’s Science dog food! (of course this was greeted with “told-you-so” faces from the family who dislike dogs!)

The other guest’s Fox Terrier, who normally never leaves it’s owners lap, decided it might be fun to mix it up a bit with our cats. The cats promptly left home and the most timid one, Magpie, decided to stay out for 24 hours just to teach us a lesson (causing great weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth from the children who spent most of the day shouting for her at the top of their voices!)

… and finally. Whilst tree-napping, cat-hunting and generally marching about the place trying to look effective (oh yes and shearing the self-shedding Wiltshire sheep who refuse to self-shed and were about to over-heat) I discovered a minor miracle.

Amongst all the dusty mud, a small spring had erupted on the edge of the road near our fence. Not an uncommon occurrence in a country with hot springs and volcanoes but this one was completely cold and ever so slightly puny-looking! I called Mr Not, we had a brief discussion about the possibility of my having had a religious experience on the scale of weeping statues of the Blessed Virgin and whether the Pope had an email address. I shouted Hallelujah a couple of times and then we discovered that the previous owner had laid our trough piping along the side of the road and it was now leaking quite forcibly! A great start to 2008 ..anyone know an emergency plumber?