Nonplussed

For three days a strong wind has been blowing from the East. It's stripped the flowers off the wisteria at the front door. In Scotland even the fiercest of Atlantic storms subsides from time to time. Here the Autan wind blows constantly, without pausing for breath, as though Siberia is emptying its lungs.

PONs love the wind. Something gets triggered in their DNA. They bark happily at the wheat  shimmying and swaying in the field across the lane.

We thought that moving the angelic duo from their old brand of kibbles to the new wheat free variety might be difficult. How wrong can you be. Sophie demolishes hers in record time. Bob, after an initial careful sniff, follows suit. So much for our plans to take the transfer gently over three or four days.

Somehow The Very Old Farmer has

1) Managed to get out of bed
2) Haul himself up onto his tractor
3) Start it  (after it's been idle for the better part of a year) and
4) Drive it across the village green to his allotment

There he discovers he can't get off. 

The man in the yellow day-glo jacket finds him. The mayor is phoned and comes with his little Peugeot van to drive TVOF home. The District Nurse is nonplussed. " I'd left him sleeping soundly in his chair by the kitchen stove after lunch ". 

An old mans determination to see another summer .

Those little village things too unimportant for a diary but too important to go completely unrecorded.