A friend at the weekend expressed concern that I was in danger of becoming a recluse. Perhaps it was my ‘waxing lyrical’ as to the tried and tested techniques for setting mole traps, or the huge heap of kindling, a result of many a happy hour with my axe which alerted her radar to the prospect of me going native.

‘But I do work at least 2 days a week in an office, with lots of people and I chat to my new found commuting friends on the train’, I protested.

‘And just who are you seeing the rest of the week?’ She quickly retorted.

‘The pigs……and the chickens…..’ I was interrupted.

‘Human contact!!’

I had to think long and hard.

‘Well, there is our neighbour’…..her simile only lasted a miniscule of a second as I finished my sentence, ‘we regularly discuss the vagaries of his tractor hydraulics and he was only telling me the other day, how important it is to check the oil level every day’.

The expression on her face said it all – a combination of sorrow and utter disbelief.

Reflecting on our conversation, I decided to make a visit it was time to embrace social integration. A friendly letter, from the lady who collects the subscriptions to the village newsletter seemed a good starting point. Off I went and had a lovely hour, chatting over a cup of mellow birds by a warm Rayburn. My new friend suggested that the solution to my social predicament lay with the Women’s Institute.

The Women’s Institute?? But I’m not even 35 I muttered to myself as I trudged back up the hill reflecting on my morning.

With work not scheduled until later in the week, I began to think my friend may well have had good reason to be concerned. I sat at my desk to ponder and hey presto, lurking in the pile of generator manuals – a drinks invitation for an office opening – tonight!! Who says I’ve gone native??! I changed out of my scruffs and into suit and heels in record time and couldn’t wait to sip champagne, mingle, discuss ground breaking professional matters……..see people!!

The reality was that after all of about 10 minutes of being talked at by a rather pompous tweed suit, a glass of warm sparkling wine in one hand and the other wrestling with an overly large canapé, I found myself hankering after a cup of mellow birds with my new friend.

Jam and Jerusalem, here I come!!

It’s offical! I am a mole catcher of note……….well, I have caught one, a big one and very exciting it was too! The smug satisfaction stuck with me for at least 3 days. It has now worn off despite the fact that the dead mole is ceremoniously hung on the fence by the back gate for all to admire providing a daily reminder of my achievement. There are two problems – the dead mole is starting to smell and it hasn’t to date, been joined by any of it’s friends.

Rather than providing a marker of my mole hunting efficiencies – the said dead mole only serves to fuel suspicion that  I have gone stark raving mad.

I have become completely obsessed with my trapping. Armed with my spade, gloves and traps, I am on a one woman mission to restore my view from its current lunar appearance back to uninterrupted meadow. I have approached my task with a significant amount of planning and preparation. The first rule of war, is, I understand, know your enemy. As such I have spent many a long evening researching everything there is to know about these velvety devils. I am alarmed by the breeding cycle and as such have put down the books to focus on manoeuvres. I eagerly follow runs and have spent far too long squashing old mole hills so that I can monitor their recent movements.

Sadly, all of this for just one mole. I shall not be deterred – the war continues.

Meanwhile, there appears to be trouble in the hen house. Having been convinced that out of my 11 surviving birds, only one was a cockerel, suddenly, it looks like I’ve got at least one more. They may just be butch hens but I am sure I heard a stifled cock a doodle do from one of them. This could explain my lack of eggs – still nothing and the weather is so much milder. Clearly, no amount of mild weather is going to encourage the cocks to lay!

I think more hens are called for.

I am stranded at the top of our hill after a week of snow which at this height is simply refusing to budge. D did attempt the Cresta Run to the bottom a couple of times in an attempt to get me to civilisation and importantly paid work! Only one of the attempts was successful – the other resulted in me being stuck on a train for 3.5 hours going absolutely no where. I then had to be rescued to get me back up the hill – all very exciting but not very productive.

The hens are not impressed by the snow and have retreated to their shed – who can blame them?! I had hoped we might have had our first egg by now but clearly this cold spell has knocked that on the head – for the time being at least. I did give ‘hen towers’, an early Spring clean this morning – hopefully this will encourage some laying once the weather changes. The clean out has meant that the compost bins have benefited from a top up with chicken poo. With the pigs and hens, the compost bins are the clear losers in the race for the kitchen scraps. The compost boosted with some poultry muck should provide me rocket fuel for the garden!

Speaking of which, I am getting behind on garden jobs . I finally managed to find my favourite vegetable growing book only to discover that by now I should have cleared the garden, dug in the muck and have trays of seed potatoes chitting on windowsills. Clearly it would help if I could, one, actually get somewhere to purchase the seed potatoes and two, see the garden and merrily dig without breaking my spade!

The pigs seem to be having a jolly time huddled together in their palace – at least it is giving the field a bit of a rest from their ruthless digging. Mrs J’s daughter (still needs a name!) appears to be a rather grumpy girl and already has had a rather vicious swipe for my backside. There’s no room for unfriendly behaviour here – have decided that there is only one thing for it – once she’s produced – she’s for the sausage machine!!

Still no progress with the moles .

Despite my love of surprises, I fired a multitude of questions at D as we headed off, car packed to some mysterious destination, in the desperate hope of gleaning as many clues as possible as to our destination. All to no avail, I was promptly told to shut up and sit quietly for the next 3 hours!

I duly dozed off but was soon woken as the car came to a halt outside one of my favourite pubs. We’d arrived and only after 40 minutes!

D had played a blinder – a short stay in a beautiful old rectory a few minutes walk from the pub. Having arrived in good time, we scuttled up to our warm room and lounge about in a state of semi – undress (ie jumpers off!) simply not possible at HP if you are to avoid extremities turning black and dropping off!

We returned to HP with a spring in our step and much as we love the old place  it’s reassuring to know there is warm refuge close by for the  ocassional treat and an opportunity to ditch the damart in favour of the frillies!

It’s certainly a return to thermals today – we are back to frozen pipes and a hefty covering of the white stuff. The pigs are still huddled in their palace and the dogs are refusing to budge from their beds. As for us, a cancelled meeting in the smoke leaves me unexpectedly free and D is having one of his ‘working from home’ days .

Another cup of tea and then to the woodshed - I must perfect my log splitting technique and then of course there are the mole traps to check.  If they have any sense the little blighters will be keeping  deep underground to protect themselves not only from the ravages of this bitter weather but my hunting instinct and collection of scissor traps!!

D left for work this morning leaving me with strict instructions to be home and ready with a bag packed for 5.30pm and not a minute later! I am either being given my marching orders or I’m being taken on one of my little fanciful mini – breaks. How exciting!

Naturally, I am presuming the latter and am floating about reassured that my hubby hasn’t actually had his spontaneity surgically removed!

I have already packed my bag with my best knickers and eagerly await 5.30pm!

I shall update you shortly!

Having just received a free cuppa from the young trolley man on my commute north – my spirits are lifted! Christmas really is upon us. I don’t really want to think too hard about all that is to do at home (including the annual pilgrimage for a free Christmas tree – more of that later) but I am looking forward to a cheerful day in the office. Why can’t we tackle every day with the same cheeriness that we manage the day or two before Christmas?

Train very quiet this week – my regular travelling companions, already on their holidays. The platform at the start of my journey is usually host to an amusing assortment of characters. There’s the country gent travelling to the city to earn his crust – no doubt keeping the children in school and the roof on the old pile. Immaculately tuned out, all he is missing is the rolled up newspaper and a bowler hat! The goatee beard – bedecked in suit with the most extraordinary pair of brown hob nail boots provides much intrigue – just what does he do? Particularly as he departs at the most sleepy town in North Shropshire, trousers carelessly tucked in his boots, he strides forth purposefully with a clickety, click of his boots to who knows where! Then there’s the battle of the cyclists – the small grey beard with his fold up bike and the young thrusting athlete, clad head to foot in lycra! Mr Lycra can usually be spotted looking down his nose at Grey Beard with utter disdain – clearly not convinced by the environmental benefits of fold up bicycles, preferring a cycle with tyres so narrow they look sharp enough to slice through paper!

The chickens are becoming bolder by the day and have recently discovered their wings – regularly they greet me defiantly from the top of the stable wall. I am faced with no option but to clip their wings – although how I tackle this remains a quandary – what I do know is that even my amateur attempts to curtail their flying habits will be preferable to them being eaten by a fox or more likely a small terrier!

Returned on Friday from a few restorative days in Devon. The benefits of coastal and moor walking combined with the obligatory pint at lunchtime are still evident in my rosy glow. I swear that despite the time of year, we could have walked (and talked!) in shirt sleeves! Just the ticket for my previously exhausted state.

I have neglected to update you on the very exciting arrival of 12 Moran chickens , following a deal in a pub car park in Gloucestershire. Not as seedy as you might think but did manage to acquire them rather cheap (hah hah!) on the basis they are not as yet sexed. Hopefully there will be plenty of productive hens amongst them particularly as four have been ear-marked for a special god-daughter’s Christmas present. D is secretly hoping for a high proportion of cockerels so that he can wield his axe, French peasant style with the anticipation of a hearty coq – au – vin on his lips!

Anyway, lovely to return home to my chickens, woofs and husband of course.  A dear girlfriend and new man, Mark the opera singer arrived for the weekend to much excitement and rapid guzzling of wine. The dull headache and lie-in on my part, the following morning – clear evidence of the previous evening’s excesses. Whilst having my croissant and quietly discussing the day’s plans with Steph, a rather guilty looking Jack Russell wandered into the kitchen and promptly rolled over in a sort of ‘sorry, I couldn’t help myself’ pose. Dismissing the relevance of such behaviour, which as a JR owner tends to be a rather regular occurrence, Steph and I quickly coated and booted in order to take advantage of clear blue skies and a crisp winter’s morning.

The scene that greeted us was sufficient to warm the heart of the coldest of Iron Maidens – men hard at work – D and accomplice fencing the pig paddock and Mark chopping wood in between bursts of Oklahoma. Our warm smugness soon disappeared on spotting a motionless chicken by the stable and the JR, who on spotting my look of horror quickly rolled over again in an attempt to look endearing but clearly giving away the identity of the culprit!

As predicted, it had taken only a matter of days before one of my beautiful birds fell victim to the worst predator of all – the terrier. At least it was days and not hours I suppose, but sod’s law says that was the only hen!

We have spent most of this afternoon building the pig palace, helped along with frequent swigs from the hip flask. I quite fancy moving in myself – so far it looks very snug and certainly much less draughty than the house! It would appear, that half a tonne of Berkshire sow comes higher up than me in the pecking order when it comes to housing requirements! The amount of effort that has gone into insulation and draught-proofing is quite incredible!

Steph and the singing woodman have departed but not before we had a rendition of Old Man River from the terrace, which boomed around the forest, leaving the hair on my neck standing and no doubt putting the fear of God into any unsuspecting walkers out for their Sunday stroll.

Our off grid, self sufficient living is gathering pace as we target our oil consumption and install the Rolls Royce of wood burners into the kitchen. It had been sitting in the corner of the room for at least six weeks, making it a useful rest for a cup of tea whilst we contemplated its installation. Numerous drawings were hastily scribbled on scraps of paper in an attempt to establish the best way of connecting the dratted thing into our rather temperamental hot water system.

Despite coming up with some interesting sketches more akin to modern art we chickened out and called the plumber. Hey presto! The old wood burner is out and the new one in and no doubt you can now picture us languishing in a bath brimming with hot water courtesy of our log pile, smugly grinning as we wonder what all the fuss was about – well not quite!

On being given two options for the installation we naturally opted for the cheapest – we are in a credit crunch after all! What we failed to take account of was the implication of disconnecting Stan the range from the hot water pipe-work – the whole purpose of the exercise! It has transpired that despite Stan having two boilers – one for cooking –the other hot water, he does not like running the cooking boiler on its own. The plumber has been summoned to work his magic (we are assured of an easy solution!) but in the meantime we have resorted to cooking on the ‘camp bistro’ – a single gas ring rather than a French café full of men who are a little light on their feet!

I am feeling particularly proud of myself having cooked a three course supper for six on Saturday evening courtesy of camp bistro and the top of the wood burner. Now questioning the need for Stan – certainly if we removed and sold him we could pay off the plumber but selling oil fired appliances in the real countryside is a no go! Aga is becoming a dirty word as our friends switch them off and resort to ugly, gas or electric cookers, a far cry from the lifestyle status the aga and others have gained in recent years.

Am city bound today to an over-warm office (bliss), the train journey at each end of the day providing a much needed opportunity to sleep or write my blog, greatly assisted in the evening by my usual tin of Greenalls ready mixed G&T and a bag of cheese and onion! It may only be 8 o clock in the morning but I am looking forward to it already! Toodle pip for now.

I never realised how much I depended on my beloved broadband connection. Without it, I feel like someone has chopped my arm off! I cannot quite believe that this ‘condition’ is likely to continue for at least another week whilst I wait for BT to do their stuff. I have had to resort to taking frequent trips out of the forest and into our delightful local town to become a regular at the only establishment offering a wireless connection. I’m sure they think I’m homeless – my generally dishevelled appearance, and now grubby clothes (all a result of our failure to get to grips with Jenny the generator and the rather fickle hot water arrangement), not helping to dispel this assumption. The good news is that as a result of the staff’s sympathy (most likely stemming from fear), I am now able to connect freely without purchasing umpteem cappucinos. Of course, I am kidding myself that this is sympathy in any shape or form and most likely a simple desire on their part for me to make my connection with the outside world as quickly as possible and depart!

We are both still struggling to find things and at the end of last week spent a happy hour (not!) hunting for our passports. Sadly not in an attempt to escape this miserable rain for sunny climes. To make the searching more fun, we have turned it into a game.  Last evening was the highly exciting race to find the keys for our cottage in view of it’s new tenants imminent arrival. The thing is, there is simply no competitive edge when faced with finding things against a male – they are simply not wired up to ‘look for things’. I am a clear champion, hubby giving up after opening a few drawers, rummaging wantonly before returning to something much more interesting like the wind turbine catalogue.

Home really is stunning though (despite our combined aroma). Had a lovely walk yesterday evening and made mental note to self to investigate rowan berry recipes.

PS. The mircowave has been recycled (gone to a friend) – umm, not sure this will be well received by assorted yummy mummy friends who seem rather dependant on these ugly machines for warming up their organic baby food!

I am writing this on the eve of our most major house move. Surrounded by boxes and bubble wrap, I have managed to escape for a few minutes to write my first blog entry – how exciting!! I’m not sure quite why I feel so compelled to start a blog on today of all days but the fact that my life is about to change in a pretty momentous way could be something to do with it.

We are leaving our cosy cottage (with mains electricity), mod cons and our lovely neighbours to a rambling house in the middle of the forest (without mains electricity) – help!! My husband has spent the last 48 hours rationalising our worldy possessions. Anything with an appetite for lots of electricity has been sent to the tip. I have managed to hold onto my hairdryer but for how much longer is anyone’s guess.

I feel like turning all the lights on in the cottage, whacking the rayburn up and using every single applicance I have managed to convince hubby we still need albeit on a ‘restricted use basis’.

Anyway, what am I worried about? I am after all a country girl and we’ll have more space for the pigs, dogs and the veg not to mention some new additions – there has already been discussion about ferrets and guinea fowl (the peacocks have been vetoed). All wonderful, dreamy stuff but still scary from where I’m sitting! I shall be further away from my office and my friends and stuck with an increasingly broody husband in the middle of the forest – yikes!

Hubby has now returned with wine and crisp supplies to sustain me through the next round of cardboard box assembly – best dash and will write again soon from the new abode.