Farming

We were discussing in the chatroom this morning, the subject of toy farms.

Now I don’t entertain many romantic notions about farming: I had a Saturday job on a farm, and I’ve walked across plenty of them (on public footpaths, natch), so I know that nature is red in tooth and claw, and farms smell of poo and stick to your boots, but when I was a kid, my Dad gave me a toy farm one Christmas that he’d made himself. It had a farmhouse, with brick-effect wallpaper: It had a barn, and a pigsty, and a little duckpond made of silver paper. It even had fences made of panel pins and wire, and a little sign saying “Red Bash Farm: Prop. P Duell”. My Dad’s woodwork was practical in nature, rather then precision, and today’s kids wouldn’t think anything of it, but my Dad put loads of thought and effort and care into his work.

Now it’s too late, I’m often getting the feeling that I didn’t appreciate my Dad enough.

Anyway, back to the chatroom discussion, and Elly spoilt the atmos a bit by telling us his Dad had made him a guillotine when he was a kid :-(

After work I failed to find one cache (that I’d failed on once before anyway), but more importantly succeeded at the webcam cache Keep Your Hat On (be insanely jealous, Rockin’ Rob :-) ). Then I went home.

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