Eight Fat Sausages...

... sizzling in the pan.

Lovely outdoors day today. The kids were mostly having a lovely time running around the garden, while we lazed about in the sunshine. After a lovely relaxing lunch outside I foolishly decided to do a spot of gardening. Like a lot of people down here we have a bit of a problem with wild boar, who come into the garden to eat tasty roots in the autumn. For the last ten years or so they've been stopped in their tracks by an electric fence... which is currently (only slight pun intended) broken. Hence they came in last autumn and dug a lawn. So, today's job, after the softening rain of the past few days, was to rake it all over. It seemed only sensible to take the opportunity to pull out weed roots and remove stones while I was on. Long job. And probably should have been done before lunch given the indigestion it provoked!

After all that, we retired down to the river for a campfire sausage, baked potato and marshmallow frenzy. Great fun. All the kids got a bit wet, and the sausages were (despite evidence above) slightly underdone, but it was a great time.

Then more fire action with the incinerator warming us on the terrace after the kids went to bed. Mr SK headed off to bed sensibly early, leaving the rest of us to fight about terrorism, overreactions and comparisons with Northern Ireland. Mr B, as always, was over-excitedly wrong. But then I would say that. (It's my Blip and I'll win if I want to?)