Cold Comfort Farm

I'm tempted to moan about the conditions here, but every time I begin, I think of the hundreds of thousands of refugees suffering appalling conditions and constant rejection. We chose to put ourselves in this position, so we must face every day with a happy heart; after all, we do have a flushing toilet! 

And a basil plant. (Yes, and matches, and PG Tips teabags, and digital scales, and wine...) The olive oil gives you an idea of the temperature. It won't pour; we have to squeeze it out in a dollop.

We were wondering how much damage the winter winds would have unleashed on our tired old buildings, and were relieved that just two corrugated roof panels had come of barn no.1. There's only hay in there, and we're getting rid of it all anyway. This is also the barn we're half demolishing, so the wind has merely started our work.

Polly was extremely happy to take a seat in front of our improvised fire. We stuck our little rusty iron chiminea in the icky fireplace, and within a radius of about four feet, there was warmth at Cold Comfort Farm. Polly let none of it go unappreciated. We were super-surprised to find embers still burning the next morning.

It's been hailing here, quite large pellets of ice, noisy as it sprayed its worst. I've been wearing, Joey-style, most of my clothes at once. At one point, a moth sought refuge on my head. It didn't want to move. Kevin had to flick it off. Gently.

My glamorous red Robertson's radio has been replaced by this mean machine! I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm disappointed that it can't seem to pick up Cherie FM... I'd become attached to its repetitive and slightly dated English playlist. However, we've found another French station that plays Adele and Coldplay alternately, so I'm happy enough. The traditional site dancing has already started. So you see... we have happy hearts! Despite the bitter, biting cold! And mud. And hard manual labour.