The Best Things in Life Are Free

Money. What is it exactly? It comes in pieces of paper with the Queen’s head on it. You can give it to someone in a money shop on the high street who promises they’ll look after it for you, but if they do happen to lose it the government will give it back to you instead (as long as you don’t lose too much). The government seem to be relying on one particular money shop called the Bank of England which can’t go out of business and is the only one able to print more of it whenever they feel like it, which they have been doing an awful lot recently. 

By the River of Pilsdon

Shortly after posting my last blog the heavens opened and stayed open for a good twenty four hours. It was serious this time. The clouds had been practising for weeks in anticipation of a good old-fashioned Deluge and they were going to enjoy it. 

Destiny's Children

Last weekend we had a sudden influx of thirteen additional residents to our community. Destiny our pig had given birth! Each piglet has a black head and hind quarters with a pink midriff and are at their very cutest when sleeping in a jumble on top of each other. Their bedroom is just a couple of yards from their mother so breakfast is quite easily obtained by them all rushing over and nudging her until she wakes up and rolls on her side.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Potato

28 March

Releasing the inner Da Vinci

Inside all of us there is a demiurge, a primal creative instinct to make something that wasn’t there before. Admittedly this inner Da Vinci is hidden deeper in some than others, but nevertheless given time, materials and an ounce of self-belief, it is bound to emerge.

How about some Jethro Cull?

Amongst the many scraps of knowledge that I’ve picked up since I arrived at Pilsdon in March, one of the most obscure has to be how many people it takes to carry a cow.  And so I can now divulge this to you too, dear reader : seventeen.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Economic Crisis

I have become used to the expression of mild astonishment that flits across people’s faces when I explain to them that until recently I had been working for years in the mobile phone software industry in London.  Maybe it’s something to do with my ever-lengthening beard and hair that make me look more like a Viking marauder (albeit a bespectacled one) than an urban professional. Or perhaps it’s just that the world I now inhabit is such a long way from that of inner-city London, on most measures you can think of.