Throttled

I was rather intrigued by these climbers which are creeping their way up to the top of the fringes of the barley. The barley will be harvested soon - already I can hear the stems rattling against each other in the wind so dry are they - so I'd best take advantage, as soon it will be bare and stubbly fields in all directions (well, apart from the lovely sunflower field at the end of the road that you will soon be well and truly bored by).

One of those days where I really felt sunk into the lowest pit of despair. Ok, well a medium pit of despair anyway. Suddenly everything feels so out of our control again, like we're just puppets waiting for someone to twitch our strings and see us react. I've probably bored on about notaires (lawyers who do your property transaction, and other stuff) before, but I really can't believe they get away with being so rubbish. We're a week away from an already 2 week delayed completion (delayed by their incompetence) and still we can't get comfort from them about whether we are taking a big or small risk in completing because of a legal problem that they should have sorted out in February. I'll stop now because I can feel the zen-calm that a glass of red and a chat with my mum and sister have brought, slipping away.

Just time to mention a new Mr B dish: Moroccan style lamb shanks. Very good indeed.

And for those concerned about my thighs, I didn't feel up to my horse-riding today so gave it a miss.

(This blip has been double-checked as free from any potential Smithski-style double-entendres.)