The milking has its own rhythm. First lead your goat to the milking parlour

Then brush the goat, wipe her udder, squeeze some milk into a cup to check for any impurities and then begin to milk into the pail. It’s relaxing, it can’t be rushed and sometimes Willow has to put up with me singing to her. In all fairness Jeremy milks four out of five days and seems to get a higher yield. I strain the milk each day and make halloumi twice a week.

A cat waits for his share of the milk from the cup

Mashed potatoes (desirees from one of many sacks of Gables spuds) accompanied by late runner beans and a tasty mixture topped with eggs and baked in the oven

We will eat the smaller, tender beans this evening and I cut up the larger, tougher beans for the goats

And still the winds rage

Tell it like it is and don’t blind me with “the science”. Yeah, right! Get a grip – mandatory masks, mandatory social distancing, shut pubs and bars indefinitely and curb all foreign travel. However nobody, it seems, knows what to do. Despair rules once again. Happy Halloween.