I’m sitting writing this wearing ear plugs because we speaned the lambs from the ewes today so there are some very disgruntled sheep making a racket outside.
Morag (originally from the big smoke of Inverness) is also disgruntled with the noise and asking me when they’ll quieten down and “isn’t it a pity they have to be separated from their mothers anyway”?
I said it could be a couple of days and maybe she should go up to her parents for a few nights if she wants a decent sleep. She didn’t take too kindly to that suggestion, so I think I’ll just keep the ear plugs handy for now.
This month marks three years since Morag moved to the farm. It has flown by, and in that time we’ve redecorated the house, renovated the garden, got a puppy (Floss) and produced a beautiful daughter, Alice, now nearly 14 months. I say “we” but I think Morag should take most of the credit for that “project”.
Apart from being fun, it has definitely been an education for us both, with Morag teaching me how to be more streetwise and me educating her on the necessary but harsh realities of farming – such as the weaning of the lambs.
“Well I think it’s just such a shame, those poor mothers missing their wee lambs,” she says as she tucks into her Sunday roast..
Alice is now walking and as I watched her push her little wooden carty around the living room, stopping now and again to put a cuddly toy into the bogie – Rabbit, sheep, giraffe, unicorn and even Paddington Bear were all in there – I thought to myself she was pretending to be the local knackery.
I guess I’ve changed a bit too.
For my last birthday Morag got me a pair of crocs, something I thought only hipsters would wear. They’re basically a hybrid of wellies and slippers, very handy for nipping out with the bins or watering the garden but banned from the farm. I never thought I’d see the day I would own a pair but they are incredibly comfy so I’m now fully converted. I’ll soon be growing a man bun in my hair and drinking almond milk out of an old jam jar.
I’ve discovered that there are a lot of similarities between rural and city life which is comedy gold for me.
Last year we passed a field of Blackface tups that were obviously heading to the tup sales. The farmer had dyed their fleece with an orange tint and they stood out like beacons in the field.
“Why do they make them so orange?” Morag asked. I told her it was just a marketing ploy so that the tup would catch the farmer’s eye and they would take it home for breeding.
I’ve probably learnt as much about “toonies” by sitting with Morag whilst she watches programmes such as The Only Way Is Essex’ and Real Housewives Of Orange County.
Some of the stuff is hilarious. In one episode a woman who was obviously concerned about her weight got her pal to put what looked like silage wrap round and round her tummy to make her look thinner. I laughed, but apparently it’s a thing called Spanx. I couldn’t help thinking that when she comes home and gets ready for bed it must be very similar to trying to get the wrap off a silage bale.
In another episode one of the lassies had a spray tan party and Morag told me that she once hosted one in her flat in Inverness shortly before she met me. In layman’s terms a women comes round with a spray gun and takes turns at painting you and your pals as you all drink Prosecco whilst remembering not to sit on the furniture.
Morag showed me a picture of her and her mates when the woman overdid the mix on one occasion.
“Why did she make you look so orange,” I asked.
“Well, it was just a marketing ploy so that I would catch a farmer’s eye and he would take me home for breeding,” she replied.
