Last week, some kind of bug decided it liked the look of me and, long story short, simply knocked me flat. It might have been a stomach bug or maybe simply a cold, it didn’t come with a nametag, but one thing I do know is it definitely wasn’t the dreaded C. How weird is it that those tests are now part of our life? Anyway, it meant I missed the good part of a week of pretty decent weather which, at this time of the year, is a little annoying. Especially as the mist rolled in on Saturday and and this week’s weather can only be described as dreich. Who needs It Pays to Increase Your Wordpower when there’s Mr Tootlepedal -oh, and Susie Dent!

If the gloomy weather wasn’t enough, the week started with a definite downward dive. As I was enjoying my post-chores Monday morning coffee,I detected a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eyewhich turned out to be *deep breath* a rodent scurrying from behind the sideboard to under the oven. I’ll spare you a blow by blow account of my reaction, I’ve mentioned my ridiculous (I totally acknowledge that) but annoyingly intense fear of these little beasts before, save to say it involved whimpering and the repeated chanting of, “Eww, yuk; eww yuk; eww yuk.” Somehow keeping my brain busy with speech, however vacuous, helped quell my goose-flesh shaking in order to start forming a plan to flush the blighter out.

The cats, both of them stretched out either side of the off-school-sick Farm Girl, were totally disinterested. I even grabbed Babette and, in a move reminiscent of The Farmer’s cat curling technique, gently launched her in the general direction of the oven but she just gave me an old-fashioned look and stalked back to Farm Girl’s bedroom. It seemed rude to request help from the finally sleeping Farm Girl, even though she definitely owes me one after my early hours hunt-and-eradicate of that black beetle. Of course I did seriously consider calling in the debt but memories of my recent brush with the lurgy she was now battling stopped me at the eleventh hour. It was pretty clear that the time had come for me to adult- up.

After exhausting the easy option (get the cat to do the work) it seemed obvious I needed a broom. In hindsight, the whole broom thing was based solely on the contents of early Tom and Jerry cartoons…or maybe Silvester and Tweety. Either way, the whole idea was ridiculous as it would entail me getting down to floor level in front of the oven and at that point I couldn’t even make myself look in the direction of the kitchen.

Thankfully, Colin returned from his daily pig pen inspection (there are many treasures still to be discovered in there) as I was feebly flailing the broom in the direction of the kitchen – I think my eyes were closed – and quickly took charge.

With him standing guard, I managed to get the dishes done and grind the coffee for lunch although placing the percolator on the stovetop required me stretching to the limits of my 158 centimeters.

After an hour long stand-off Colin’s attention was diverted by the catcalling of the local real-life farm dogs (how’s that for mixing my metaphors). They never fail to bark a few insults as they pass the Homestead gate and the rodent decided to go while the going was good. Out it popped, Colin switched back on and gave chase, trapping it in the corner of the kick space of the kitchen cupboards. You hear stories of people gaining superhuman strength or courage. In my pathetic rendition of just such a thing, I grabbed the broom and ushered that rat towards the outside door whilst shouting, “Get out of my house!” at such volume and force that Colin stopped and blinked at me. Luckily, it also befuddled the interloper who had broken free of my broom bristles and, quick thinker that he is, Colin nipped its tail in his front teeth and ran outside, flung it onto the lawn and it missed no time scurrying off into the garden.

With the Homestead now rat-free, I was free to indulge in the wet weather tasks that tend to centre around the kitchen, the stove in particular.

Supplies of bone-broth stock, baking and apricot jam have been topped up.

On Wednesday, it even looked like we might see the sun but no…

Paul the rooster celebrated by crowing for the first time. Olive laid her first egg.

This morning, we woke to a crisp frost. Yay! Sunshine!

Surely it’s against all kinds of law to have a frost morph into drizzle and gloom.

Back inside again…at least it’s rodent free.

Postscript: I subscribe to the belief that one baby rat only signifies the presence of larger parent rats nearby and so Monday was spent in a cleaning frenzy but no evidence was spotted. At dinner that night, all listened politely to my rodent story. Oh yes, The Bean Counter and Engineer offered, Babette brought something inside as we were eating our breakfast. She lost it behind the sideboard. We didn’t say anything because we didn’t want to worry you.