I hope the other lambs don’t want to dye their wool!

J reports that Dotty drank a whole bottle of milk this morning. That’s a first. Well done Dotty

Jeremy blames Edwina Currie whose infamous warning (in 1988) that “most of the egg production in the UK is affected by salmonella” made me even less inclined than before to eat fresh mayonnaise or chocolate mousse or homemade ice cream. Today I overcame my resistance with one of our fresh, fresh eggs

If I get sick tomorrow I will let you know!

It’s spring and males fight for domination as hens (and geese) lay more and more eggs. The goose fights are terrible to hear and behold. The cockerels go at it, usually, when we are out of sight.

The sheep and lambs had managed to push open a gate last night and were munching grass in the “wrong” quarter of the field. A bucket of pellets saw them running back at double quick time.

In the old quail house the two sets of Silkie mothers keep their chicks apart. Mum with the seven chicks is fierce if any of the other five and their two mothers approach her brood

Of course my father and mother (mum’s stone will be put up later in the year next to dad) and the stone of my late in laws and then to one of my strangely favourite places – the grave of my mother’s parents, who I adored. I stood in front of the grave and read the inscriptions. I spoke to them, as I always do and then I placed a stone on each side – as is our custom. Their love, care, treats and endless games of cards plus squares of cadburys chocolate from the sweet tin and an olive or two from the jar in their fridge was a feature of every visit to their flat. They only lived across the road from our block of flats and I saw them several times a week. Grandma crocheted me dresses in the swinging sixties and hippy waistcoats and she taught me dances even though her arthritis prevented her from moving. I never tired of their company. My visit to the Royal Opera House to see Swan Lake with grandma when I was 8 is still a vivid and wonderful memory.

Seven years ago, after we put up the stone for dad, I was at the cemetery and went to visit his grave. I told my 5 year old grandson that I had been to visit Grandpa Jops (it’s a long story – but he really was his great grandpa Leslie and he and grandson were very close) and told grandson I had talked to my dad. The little fellow then asked, “Did he talk back?” That took a short amount of explanation but he “got it” and maybe he will go and talk to Grandpa Jops himself one day.

Dotty has decided to curl up in the corner of the barn on a cold night. All the other sheep and lambs seem content to stay outside.

I took her to the porch and she had a chat with Nigel