It seems the day has not started properly if The Crofter isn't seen with his bucket of builders tea in hand en-route to the tooth factory. I think he was pointing for 'Arts' sake. Possibly. Not that I know who Art is anyway.
Meanwhile the ducks are doing their thing, taunting the next door crofter's furry things. They were making quite a racket but the sheeps just carried on eating.
And Dad Crofter took his bucket up the road in search of some freshish grass for the guinea pigs to eat.
On the Isle of Lewis off the west coast of mainland Scotland lies a croft inhabited by an English off-comer. His Mum and Dad live nearby and help him run the croft. This is a photographic record of their lives as it unfolds.