Mini-B's been here the last few days helping BB with the slating - sporadically anyway, when he's not been summoned to remove his cows from someone's front garden or disappeared to exchange sackfuls of wild mushrooms for tractor tyres. Today they put up the first chimney and as BB stood back to admire their handiwork, I came along and said, "it's squint". This happens all the time and the script goes like this:
BC: That [chimney/window/door/beam/shelf] is squint.
BB: (long steely silence with much flaring of nostrils) Well it's too late to do anything about it!
BC: What do you mean it's too late? You've just this second put it [up/in/on].
BB: Well I'm not changing it!
BC: Ok. We'll just be known as the foreigners who live in the crooked house.
That works every time and he spent the next hour (huffing and puffing) trying to budge the chimney a couple of centimetres.
When I was out running earlier I thought I'd stumbled across a family of baby hedgehogs, these sweet chestnuts were so big. They were as big as tennis balls but you wouldn't want to slip one of these in your pocket for your second serve. Which brings me nicely on to bulls' testicles. Poire is just back from holiday in Alsace where rognons blancs featured on the menu in a restaurant they went to. I'll just file those with tête de veau I think.