I try to post every Friday but sometimes, like last week, I don’t make it. Maybe I’ve got other stuff that takes priority, perhaps I don’t think I have anything worthwhile to report or it could be I just don’t feel like it. Last week was a combination of all those and a couple of others to boot. In truth, time just ran away on me in that sneaky way it has, the stealth of which was recently brought home to me when The Bean Counter gleefully announced that it was fifty years (half a century!) since

He was right – I googled; their biggest ever hit, the one that reached the twelve year old ears of Radio Avon devotee me (also 12), was released on 28 February 1975. The shameful period of questionable music-based views and the tartan-heavy wardrobe this song prompted has been documented previously but somehow the huge length of time since I’d last donned the trew hadn’t fully registered. Time, indeed, passes…

As well as dealing with my undeniable proof of agedness, I was also a little low as I’d spent the week fighting flystrike in the flock. An utterly horrible sheep ailment, at times it felt like I was on a losing wicket but I’m happy to report that Luna Sheep is now back to almost full strength. Fingers crossed the end of fly weather is not too far away.

Farm Girl also had an animal calamity to cope with, but this one with a less happy ending. In a bolt from the blue, Lorraine the guinea pig fell ill and, despite bringing in the big guns (The Princess, her colleagues and their collective bag of tricks), it became evident the problem was neurological and the onset of seizures made euthanising a very real and humane option. We are now actively seeking a housemate or two for Ed; guinea pigs are social beings.

Since my last missive, the weekend focus for The Homestead has been getting things in the ex-Tiny Houser paddock ready for Ben the Builder

who, this week, built the foundations for the sleepouts new site. Sadly, the day the concrete truck visited coincided with a town appointment so no photographic evidence exists; hopefully I’m at home for the lift-into-place. While we hadn’t planned on buying the sleepout off the Farmer and Princess, the general mean spirited, eye-on-the-main-chance, bullying behaviour of those that came to look at it with a view to purchase made it’s appeal as our new spare bedroom very evident. There may be plans for a veranda and hot tub in the pipeline…

Otherwise, it’s been a week like most others:

including a Urban Homestead day for Shirley and myself to do a bit of gardening and discover a few more twigs of the family tree

and a day hanging out at Casa Kimberley with Kora and Eli for Mr Colin, whose farm dog radar makes him less suited to town life.

It’s been a bit of a week now that I look at it; no wonder I’m feeling a little creaky of joint – it has nothing to do with birthdays passed!

Note to self: move hot tub procurement up the list