We are not on mains drains and, every couple of years, a “scent bottle” (Mum’s name for it, not mine – she was similarly afflicted where she lived) comes to empty our septic tank.

And today was the day.

I did warn the accompanying gentlemen that there might be some “help” as they would have to cross the ponies’ track to get to the tank.

But I was assured that pony involvement would be fine.

Funnily enough, I was not convinced.

So while the men were busy emptying the tank (not much in as it is mysteriously very efficient), I dished out the last of the Turriefield mishapen carrots to distract any potential assistants.

Sadly, I didn’t have enough carrots for the time it took and, when Vitamin determinedly started walking down to tell them they were doing it wrong,  …….

…… I headed her off at the pass.

No one needs help from anyone, I told them.

So the ponies all went back to the task of eating their hay while the scent bottle escaped safely and unscathed.  Phew!

I found these old videos today and they made me reminisce and think awwww and also cry.

This was when Lambie was very young (April 2015 so just born).  He is still dirty from his one day living with his mother and I hadn’t managed to clean the poop off his face.  We are bonding and, at this stage, I was thinking of calling him Pongo as his sister was Perdy (think 101 Dalmatians).  Perdy sadly died on Day 2 and their mother a few weeks later.  She was never in any fit state to have lambs.

And watching this video, I’ve just heard the music and seen BeAnne (whose name I still can’t say out loud) and I am now crying my eyes out, dammit.

*** sniff, and blow, and keep going ***

From Day 1, Lambie had a bad case of joint ill  (bacteriol arthritis) which meant he could barely walk and he got worse and worse, slowly going off his legs.  This resulted in many courses of antibiotics (intra-muscular injection, poor soul) to find one that would work.  He was very good about this. Walking was also prescribed.   Eating was not great but we persevered.

Daisy created “The Bear Grylls” assault course when I went to see my mother. Every day, Lambie had to complete it and slowly he got much better.

And then we got Lambie a friend – Day 1 with ‘Bert.  It didn’t take long before they were besties and Bert taught Lambie how to eat.

They were besties until Lambie became annoying.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the videos.  I think they are very sweet. I shouldn’t really watch them.  Seeing BeAnne does me in.

OH and I have been experimenting.  Red lights are apparently the way forward for horse-stable lighting and there is a science in this, all of which I have read and not understood (says Michael Faraday’s 5th great niece!)

Anyway, last night we rooted around the house looking for red material and I found OH’s orange woollen hat which I put over the light only for it to turn a very credible red.  So more rooting around and I found a large fluorescent orange hood in a drawer from a coat long gone.  We put it around the light and, again, it looked very red.  Perfect.  OH cut up the hood and covered the light.

And later on that night, I stuck the red light onto the container.  It looks much brighter than it actually was.  So now we have a Red Light District with some distinctly dodgy characters living there!

This morning and everything was fine.  All happy.  Buckets finished and the gentlemen (** cough **) were tucking into the haynets.

The ladies, of course, as Victorian etiquette demands, had retired to the drawing-room, or in this case the containers.

They seemed very happy inside and stayed there for most of the morning.

The little boys did their own thing.

And OH and I are still experimenting. I drove over to Turriefield for their selection of red plastic bags some of which we added to the lights.  It gave it a better hue and nearer to the colour  science says horses find easiest to see in at night.  Something about wavelengths being above 620 nm but we don’t have a way of measuring any of this so this is just a stab in the dark.

These days, twilight is around 19:00 and I like to set everything up for the night before total darkness descends.

I recently bought four rechargeable lights that are magnetic, and so ideal for sticking on the container.  I thought they could show the ponies where the containers were.

But they are quite bright and now I wonder if they are too bright.  Each container has a step up as they are on blocks on the hard-standing and I want the lights to show the ponies where to step up if they want to go inside.

I would hate them to bash their knees trying in the pitch dark.  It would put them off and that would defeat the object.

But not all light is good light and I am busily asking questions about horses, lighting and finding out how they need the darkness for their circadian rhythms at night.  Apparently red lights are considered perfect for night-time.  So now we are experimenting…… 

Anywho, later on I went outside to double check everyone was ok and nearly tripped up over a small capybara who was being particularly unhelpful.

Thursday afternoon and you will find me packing vegetables at Transition Turriefield ready to go to the shops.  It’s what I do.  Not a job – I volunteer.

Anyway, we were all weighing, packing and labelling away, chatting as we went when someone appeared with binoculars and a casually slung camera saying he had just seen (and it was a confirmed sighting) of an Eastern Crowned Warbler (Phylloscopus coronatus) at Turriefield.

Apparently this is a very rare bird who has absolutely no business being in Shetland being happier in Japan or Manchuria.   I had a look but regretfully saw nothing.  It’s green. The trees are green.  Nuff said.

However, I did then spot about 200 bird-watchers (you aren’t allowed to call them twitchers – they hate that) descend on the hill opposite, complete with “bins” and cameras, with longer lenses than mine.

Bored of not seeing this extremely rare bird who has obviously made a wrong turn somewhere, I took photos of the polytunnels in the low Autumn sunlight instead.

And then went back indoors to talk to Trotsky, the cat, and finish my vegetable packing.

One thing I will add is that these bird-watchers drive fast and don’t care about other road-users in their pursuit of a rare bird and nearly had me off the road on my way home.  Not great really.