Am sat at the kitchen table feeling buggered. Not literally, you understand, but frankly that probably wouldn’t make me hurt quite as much as I do right now. There’s not a bit of me that’s not feeling broken. Saturday was a day hellish activity, finishing digging the third veg patch, and then just for fun finishing building the drystone wall that’s to cut out the worst of the north-easterlies. Woe.

Today was (ha!) easier, being the small matter of rabbit-proofing the railing fence around the front garden, as Mrs Bonxie went mad on Saturday and bought a dozen shrubs in Lerwick. They need to be planted somewhere the fluffy bastards can’t nibble them to toothpicks. So I spent today fighting rabbit wire and stapling it to the fence. 1250 staples it said on the box. I used them all. I hurt.

This week – fun abounds in the evenings. Will start to put up the collection of pallets that have been accruing at the top of the drive to make yet another small sheltered yard, to be planted with a game cover mix and a few shrubby things. And sow the game cover there and in the churned up bit left where the ponies overwintered. Also barrow the immense dung heap onto the veg plots, leaving a super-fertile ex-dung heap to plant with willows. And (shudders) dig a fourth veg plot for onions and garlic. More woe.

It’ll all be worth it come October…