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Mr Crofter was all eyes for the ladies, although he has a little something for Eric I have to tell you - what with his thick neck and massive rump. Eric the Bull not The Crofter. Although now I come to think........

Eric was keeping an eyes on Rosie and Rhianna - or whatever they are called. Having a quiet word in their shell-like as the other girls shouted and cried.

Of course The Crofter had to consort with the other buyers. Talk the talk and walk the walk. The latter may have been his tight jeans though. As it happens, there was a cafe there at the Mart. Not really worth going all that way for mind you but I did indulge and celebrated the deal with The Great Man with a strawberry cream tartlette. Eh? We were playing the part. Don't go on at me!

Soon it was time to load the goods. The box on wheels was lined with dried grass stuff for the beasts to sit on. Mr Crofter was still very happy at this point. I think I even caught him smiling. Perish the thought.

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Mr Crofter and I, yours truly the diarist, took off across The Minch the other day. On the ferry. Only, I had to rise from my fitful slumbers at 4.30am to catch the early ferry [slaps head at the folly of it all]. What was I thinking? Well, if you must know, nothing much at all. Obviously.

We went in the Pimpmobile towing a huge box on wheels which slowed progress somewhat, caused consternation to The Crofter at the rising temperature of the cooling water but, and this is the important bit, looked the part. Oh didn't we look the part? I was almost tempted to tie a scarf round my hair and everything - but I really didn't want to frighten the locals.

We had an appointment with a lady in the less than salubrious end of Dingwall. At Dingwall Mart to be precise. It felt like one of those dodgy assignations you see in equally dodgy AmeriCan films. All flashing headlights and plain brown envelopes changing hands. There was the lady with her wheels phoning her,,,, her friend while The Crofter took it all in, smelt the air and played the part.

We'd been grilled by Germans earlier in the day when we were refuelling [scrambled egg on toast - lovely] at a transport cafe [The Crofter takes you to all the best places you know]. We didn't mention the war[s] but did have a conversation about sheeps, coows and the like. I hope we didn't give too many secrets away.

In no time, the assignation time had arrived. The goods were there. The buyers too. The middlelady did the deal and soon Mr Crofter had two new lovely ladies to play with and Eric to keep them in order - and in calf.

The best thing is, these coows are lovely and calm.

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Oops!

Apparently, it just materialised there!

As it happens The Crofter Sir, him of the committees and the sore head has got it out now.

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Mr Crofter should be home from the Highland Show soon. Back to his mothering duties for Widdle and sorting the PoR.

Widdle over-excited at the great returning

PoR

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Widdle and The Crofter enjoy the sunshine

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Was this the decisive moment?

I think it probably was. It was the moment when the little bull got caught by The Crofter and Dad Crofter so he could have his bits lopped off. The bull that is!

It all was fun and games before.

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The little bull lost his,,,,, his bits the other day. Hector did the deed.