Today has been stressful.  I feel like I am in Terry Gilliam’s film “Brazil”.  Somewhere I read that I needed a Covid passport to fly south and so the morning was spent trying to find one.  Not easy because I had the booster in England.  Scotland and England NHS’s don’t appear to communicate or update.

Then there are far too many close Covid cases that appeared on my radar. So now I have decided to abandon Plan A (to stay with my sister in London during the funeral – her postcode is a hotbed of cases) and to minimise contact with everyone.  I shall live at Mum’s house instead which is walking distance from the crematorium.  I shall sit, like the Queen, on my own, taking a taxi to the airport and flying back home the next day, hopefully not catching, carrying or giving anyone Covid, while lateral flow testing as I go.

Life seems very difficult, nearly impossible, but this is the best I can do.  Lovely neighbours are leaving me bread, milk, butter and marmite and there are new gaozi (Chinese dumplings) from my last trip in Mum’s little freezer.  So hopefully essentials are covered.  I just won’t have my sister and her family as support and will get through the funeral on my own.  I will and can do this.

Meanwhile, waiting for me at home……

This is probably and should be my family crest.  Terriers rampant!

Think of me. This is Hell.

There was a lull in the weather – just windy, no rain, and I found the sheeple all sitting down and resting on the lee-side of the big shed. So I found a comfortable rock and sat down with them.

(an extra gorgeous shot of Lambie, just because ❤️)

Not-so-little Harrel-the-Barrel was first up, of course.  He always is.

And then his Mum, Maggie.

It made me think that Maggie has come a long way. You may remember, she arrived back in February of this year.

A very different sheep in those days when she decided she wanted to live with us.  She used to wait for me all day by the gate leaving the rest of her flock.

Now she waits for me to come home.

A little Winning Smile.  Such a dude.

The rescues are a good addition to my little flock.

I have just told the girls there will be no baby lambs this year.  None.  And the electric fence has gone up to zap anyone who thinks otherwise!  The rams are out in the hill.

Tonight I am feeling a little emotional about my sheep. I don’t know why – I think it was looking at old photos of Maggie (and there were ones of BeAnne too) set me off and listening to Michael Bublé. Tis the season.

The storm clouds are gathering – three days of ghastliness forecast – so I made the executive decision to move everyone first thing into better fields.

The sunrise was pretty and, feeling purposeful, Floss and I devised a safe plan.  It’s always good to have a plan with these sorts of manoeuvres. So it started to pour with rain and we were at that stage when we couldn’t be arsed to go back into the house to get our waterproof trousers on while hoping it was just a brief shower.

It wasn’t. We got wet.  Such is life.

First we moved Taktur and his mates into the stable. There is nothing worse than a shouty stallion and his friends running up and down the fence not helping.

Then we caught Sóley and Lilja and led them over the hill to Clothie – a five acre winter field I’ve been resting for two months.  It has good shelter from all sides.

Next up were the old men and Klængur, who were patiently waiting for us to come and get them.

I led Iacs and Haakon, while Floss had Klængur and was on gates.  Everyone was happy moving to a new field.

Then I led Taktur, Efstur and Dreki to their new field (the one next door) while Floss went and found Kappi who appeared to be incapable of following his field-mates having developed an independent thought, which we do not encourage.  Honestly, never trust anyone ever.  Horses lie.  Anyway, they were all reunited and galloped about for a bit, and then settled down to the business of eating.

We went inside with a job well done and had breakfast feeling slightly soggy.

Another day “between weathers” so I told Floss that I was going to sit with the Minions and she was very welcome to come too if she wanted.   It was that kind of day – the sort of day when you need to have a Shetland pony chat.

So, of course, no one wanted to talk!

Could they be any further away?

We chose a dry rock each and waited.

Dearest Storm. He had found a victim – sorry, my bad, a friend!

I got Silver looking enigmatic.

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Albie managed to raise his head to show me just how gorgeous he is.  Look, look, a waistline. I am so impressed.

The others loafed around.

And Newt loafed even further.

Eventually, I left my dry rock and went to talk to Newt.

And Waffle.

He was having a boggy-plant moment.

What’s that saying? You can take a horse to water…. yada yada yada.

Still, it was nice to be ignored by ungrateful Shetland ponies who hate you because you didn’t bring carrots as they are all very fat and don’t need them.  Just sayin’.

The family (hooman) are being very careful here at Thordale.  I feel bad because I have just cancelled all our plans to go anywhere (a much looked-forward to book launch tomorrow and a friend’s birthday later). Mum’s funeral is at the end of next week and I am flying south to attend.  Although we are all vaccinated up to the hilt, I just can’t take any risks.  We won’t have visitors either and I am doing a lateral flow test daily.

That doesn’t mean we don’t go out.

We just don’t see anyone.

However, the family are not too concerned.

We have our own social life on the croft (view from the kitchen window this morning!)

And some rarely move anyway! That would take effort and we don’t do effort in this house.

My afternoons are now back on track making sheeple. I take Pepper and Ted with me to my shed, mostly to give everyone else a break for a few hours.

The dogs enjoyed my shed today. I was feeling benevolent (and possibly cold) so I put the heating on. Pepper quickly claimed her throne.

And Ted claimed his – the more comfortable bed!

So hopefully I will get south unless Nicola Sturgeon bans travel next week. I am trying not to panic. If I can fly, I will. If I can’t, Mum would be the first to understand.  And the weather is looking beyond shitty – gusting Force 10, seriously? Give me a break, please.

so I am praying that it won’t be as bad as it is threatening.