A quiet week in the Wolds

There are times in the country when nothing much really seems to happen; yet looking back over a period of some 10 days one suddenly realises that "actually it has been rather hectic"! No.... I can't work that one out either. The past fortnight is a case in point.

We had the major drama of preparing and photographing piggies for their national Farmers Weekly debut - and the article duly appeared last week..... Ginger became an out-and-out drama queen for several days with all the adulation she received as a result..... Luckily the others were happy to let her have her 'hour of glory' (on condition that maybe they get the feature photo next time --- please note journalists) so now she is beginning to come back down to earth but life in the pens will never be the same again!

Mind you, I'm not sure that Ginger was the only one suffering from Fame Fatigue: we arrived rather late at the village Harvest Festival supper the following Sunday (owing to adventures with the Paragon of Virtue - see below) to be greeted by our Host brandishing a copy of said national journal whilst proclaiming loudly to the assembled company that "the celebrities have arrived". The remainder of the evening - apart from the calling of the Raffle (always a certain show-stopper) - was spent in reciting and repeating the story of the hairy pigs' return to the Wolds. This was made all the more poignant because not only had the village been the home of generous herds of Large Whites during the heyday of the 1950's and '60's but, more to the point, a certain Fulletby Curly Coat sow, bred not more than a half-mile from the Rectoryreserve, had achieved some acclaim in the 1920's. Many memories were awakened and stories recounted that evening.

Which rather put into the shade the antics of aforementioned P.o.V. - a.k.a. Madonna's Child - at his latest dressage competition outing the Sunday of the Harvest supper. As we all know, 'behaving like a ponce' is not really his favourite thing but, despite being polished, primped and plaited within an inch of his life, not to mention putting up with extremely blustery winds he acquitted himself rather well, coming home with three rosettes from three 'classes' (he'd have done a whole lot better if his pilot had been a little more attentive and not made stupid errors of course). Whatever the judges' comments, he's coming on a treat and we continue onwards and upwards in his not-chosen career (just as well, since hunting is totally off the agenda due to foot-and-mouth at present).

Meanwhile, Pilot has continued his efforts to rid the countryside of pestilent vermin (rabbits in his book) and has spent many a happy hour hunting far and wide, returning home utterly exhausted and not the least bit interested in anything else till the next time. On one particular evening I was surprised to see him disguised as a green mound on the kitchen sofa; clearly he'd also been in the pond on that occasion and needed to dry and warm himself up a bit. He is such a character.

So, as we always say here, "just another quiet week in the Wolds".