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See. That lady who is visiting [Gemma apparently] was hard at work on the kitchen table with Mum Crofter in attendance making sure she doesn't slack. Widdle was under the table - widdling.

And the PoR was slowly continuing its journey back into the earth.

The sunshine was lovely this morning though.

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'Ere. The Crofter has a new pile of rust lurking outside The Factory at the moment. Flew it in from the southern isles on a low-loader. Not exactly what that means but it does sound impressive - even if the PoR is or at least was a tractor. A David Brown one as it happens. 

It works too. Well, apart from that thing on the front which at the moment has to be hand-winched up and down utilising some rope and shackles.And apart from the engine which belches smoke when running and the fuel line whch leaks like a perverbial seive. Oh, and the flat tyre, the crunched roof. Apart from that it's just dandy. Gemma is most impressed I can tell you.

Yes, Gemma has arrived and was ensconced cosily in the lounge watching the footie with The Crofter and Widdle, the little lamb who seems to have made itself very much at home whilst her mother braves the wintery blast of a summer breeze across Tolsta Head. Mr Crofter certainly knows how to impress!

Donald Four Tractors came down to see the PoR and was suitably impressed with the machine - as any tractor aficionado would be. See, that bent bit on the left, that the bonnet of the PoR taken off after The Crofter had sawn the exhaust pipe off on account of the fixing bolts having been replaced with weld. Soon have that bonnet back gleaming again. Possibly.

Proof if proof was required that the thing moves. But do be careful not to slip of the diesel /oil on the road where the thing has been though!

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There's a sheeps-lette in the hoose. Making a mess and everything.

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Now if you take look out of my window - assuming the rain will stop for a moment and the glass clear a little, you may see a fence. In itself not a really surprising thing round here - home of sheeps and coows but this one has been renewed. Renewed by the redoubtable BoyShaun and his pal Man-Wednesday - or whatever he is called these days.

Apparently, M-W didn't want his sheeps catching the passing bus into town so thought he might stop the little fellas and fella-eses getting out. The gate works too now! I know, I know not your usual thing here at all. The rules are; fence posts must sway in the wind on the rusty wire and gates must open only - eventually. Eh!

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Now please don't berate me for getting a bit slow on these here posts. I have a life you know. A bit of one anyway. The neg was holed up in the camera for a few days and I've only just released it after a localised sloshing in suitable chemicals.

As I mentioned before, I think, The Crofter has been playing with sheeps recently. Collected Teddy and his woolly-back pals from The Authoress' fieldette just over the road and up a bit. Up by the old charabanc awaiting further deterioration until it finally disappears into the earth. One of three old charabancs rotting in the village as it happens. I might have to re-snap up the others again soon.

Mr Crofter and his ever-patient father didn't have time to wait for the next bus so they drove the quad with Ted and Co aboard back to the other side of the village to meet their little Hebridean sheeps / Guinea-pig cross friends. The Crofters took the high road. Obviously.

Mum and Dad Crofter should be back on the island again now after their little trip to Inverness.

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See, the sun shines here. Though yesterday you could have been forgiven for forgetting that. The rain lashed in good and proper. The Crofter coped though despite Mater and Pater being on the mainland for a few days.

Here's Dad Crofter sunning his back in the fish-net tunnel.

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There they were, down the Croft - or nearby in some cases.

HHHCB went down to The Croft on her morning constitutional. I went along to keep her company and I'm glad I did as it happens.

Dad Crofter was modelling his everso slightly camp lumberjacks jacket. It's been maturing in the house for the last four years and now the sun is out and the temperatures have raised into positive figures, it get's an airing. Nice.

I noticed Donald Four Tractors playing ploughing his field next door too. Second best tractor doing the job in hand - with another waiting by the wayside if No. 2 breaks down. Managed a snap of him and his 'wheels' as he left.

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There's another 30 sheeplettes for Gemma to play with when she comes back up for a visitation soon. And another 7 sheeps still to lamb. They were shouting at The Crofter today when he brought some in from a far field to join the throng o'er the road. Except for the badly named Fluffy, who is resided up down the road. Just as well since Fluffy is not looking at his best to be honest.

Fluffy - named by the Crofter family!

There was as spot of shovelling going on today. Moving smelly stuff to where the noisy ones were playing. Dad Crofter and The Crofter himself was doing the work. Gooses here do me head in mind. They always do. I know they lay eggs and everything but does The Crofter have to keep Gooses?

Anyway, twas a fine day, no sun but no wind or midges either. Bliss!

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Did I tell you The Crofter, bless his cotton-mix socks, 'did' the sheeps the other day? The sun was shining and all that, he came out of his lair blinking in the bright light, dusting off the acrylic [denture] dust and popping up the road, opposite here, to tickle the sheeps.

I have to say though, The Crofter does walk this way so as to provide matter for my snaps. Dad Crofter was behind on the quad don't you know. Mum Crofter strolling down too. Sheeps warily looking up the field to see what was coming their way. I was, snapping as I came.

After some prolific shaking of the feed bucket in a way which makes me wonder whether The Crofter used to play percussion with King Crimson  [he couldn't have - too young you'll be pleased to hear down there in Doncaster], the sheeps - woolly backs and Hebridean Guinea pig crosses - wandered up into the little corral put together by the nice crofter.

Mum and Dad were there too. Dad holding the sheeps and Mum directing affairs and passing the swabs or something while the sheeps had their bottom wiped, teeth checked and a special tonic given. Oh it was so warm you only needed three layers. Soon the Crofter had a bead of sweat on his forehead - the first one since 2010 if my diary is correct.

Murray 'the wood' [more of a Led Zepplin fan me thinks ] came down next doors croft with Frank and Bob, the doggies in tow. Thought there was a sheeps conference or something and came down to join in the fun, chase a lamb and what have you. We chewed the cud, chased a sheeps and laughed at Mr Crofters antics.
What a lovely day was had by all.

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It's all a matter of where the grass is apparently.

Looked like the whole field was full of the stuff to me but apparently it wasn't long enough, or green enough or tasty enough or something. Either way these sheeps - white woolly backs to use a technical term - had to have the run of all the croft.

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It's all go down at The Croft. There's a trye flat. Luckily it's only flat at the bottom and Dad Crofter will soon have it sorted.
 Once the Chinese sized tyre has been sourced, sent to the island etc.

There's some pallets waiting to as a local blasts past on his mobility quad.

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The Crofter doing his good turn of the day. Pulling a white Beamer out of the ditch down Claddach way. Apparently the visitors had driven part way down before realising how steep it was then put the back wheels in the ditch turning around. The Kind Crofter pulled them out with his Pimpmobile.

Later David, Dad Crofter apologised to the Pimpmobile for the ignominy. 

Meanwhile, Sue, Mum Crofter carried on doing the books in the kitchen.