This morning did not start well.  I wanted to do some DIY, refurbishing a blanket box to be exact, and the immediate problem was that I’m pants at DIY.  Some things I’d back myself doing – hatching chicks and (bizarrely) making marmalade and I’m your man.  But DIY evades me, especially when precise measurements are concerned.  So by the time I’d unscrewed the cover, carefully removed the wadding, discovered to my delighted surprise that there were also batons involved, levered them off, lost the screws, spilt the wadding, caught the old material on some unsuspected drawings pins, failed utterly to stretch the new material between the batons and finally nailed the batons triumphantly right through into the paint work on the lid, I was feeling less than buoyant.

So I did what I should have done in the first place and went outdoors.  The hens spotted me from afar and came bounding towards me, all frilly knickers and eagerness.  The sight of running hens, especially feathery ones, could melt the stoniest of hearts and it got even better when I spotted Wenceslas, the cockerel.  He had been having a private dustbath, looked up and found himself alone.  As always in moments of stress, his feathers went into freefall (see photo of 25 Feb for an instant explanation) and he was left running in small circles around his dustbath saying “What??  Where?? “Who?”  It was perfect.  The geese did their little bit too, as I was just in time to collect Tulip’s perfect white egg before she started her little smearing routine (don’t ask, but it puts you right off goose eggs).  I went out to feed the sheep and they were also in great form, I didn’t just have the stiff-leg bounces, I had the whole ‘get up on back legs and pogo-stick’ routine.  Surrounded by sheep displaying symptoms of extreme jubilation I began to forget about DIY.

I took the dogs for a walk around the village, and first I had Darcy’s round-and-round dance of joy when he realises that I am picking up the leads, and then Guinness had a funny five minutes around the daffodils with her tail bent into a loop, and then we had a delightful walk in the fog.  And the nice thing about deep fog is that everything looks different.  Familiar farms, straw stacks, trees, loom up unexpectedly.  It’s like living somewhere else, but in a framework of safe familiarity.  And for the final little piece of joy, a neighbour’s Indian runner ducks had formed themselves into a straight line and were wobbling eagerly towards her pond, which is one of the best sights you could find.  So although I now have to lever the batons off again, hoover up the wadding, find another piece of new material, fill the holes in the lid, sand them off and repaint it before I can start again, I’m well happy.  Hope you are too!