Mid August

8.15am. Our guests breakfasted at 6 leaving for the airport in good time for the 10 minute journey and their flight to Dublin. As they said in their very king comments in our guest book. So easy for the airport and not under the flight path. We are so lucky on that one. Beds are changed and all would be bliss if it were not for the shower having inexplicably no cold feed.

Such are the travails of an old house. Where exactly does the cold water come from? Those in the know are long dead and those left are opening bath panels and pulling up floor boards. We have two days to get sorted before our next guests. Rather more time than when on an old boat chartering in the Caribbean. David sent me off snorkelling with the guests while he attempted to repair the 'black water' (no prizes for guessing what that is!) pump. A diaphragm affair that had come adrift from its mountings and a rather crucial ingredient of what is known on a boat as the 'heads'. He spent 2 hours upside down in the bilges while we meandered about on a reef watching brilliantly coulered small fish. A magic row of cuttle fish which reminded me of 'little maids all in a row'. On our return for tea and cake at 4pm all was working. He is a wonderful man and very good at cobbling things together with what we have. Easier here as we can at least go shopping for bits and pieces rather more easily.

des ja vue

Tonight David went missing and suddenly my mobile rang. text; 'a dog is attacking mr'. Mr is myIrish thoroughbred horse. He was being chased around the field by a collie and was in quite a state. Fortunately the collie scarpered when David yelled at him. We shall have to watch out for a repeat visit but... it reminded me of a dog attack years ago when we had a small holding near Bovey Tracey. I left the house one morning to be greeted by a neigh from my horse 'Bale' (Harper's Bazaar) this had to be bad news; she only ever made a noise when there was a problem, and there was. I went into her field to find that she had a huge gash down one side, her whole shoulder joint was exposed and she had further wounds to her sides and rump. After 24 years with me it was clearly the end of the road. We had a wonderful vet and he came and put her down. Her two daughters came and supported her in her distress and after we had destroyed her they stood over her for the rest of the day and over her grave that night. She had clearly been chased past something sharp and David went off to check on the rest of the stock. One other 2 year old was in distress and would not move otherwise they were all right. The vet considered that they had been chased probably by a dog or dogs. As we had seen three boxers chasing the chickens in the same field two nights before we were pretty sure who the culprits were. We taxed our neighbours with it and they were adamant that it was not the case. Two days later one of the boxers turned up with a very recently live lamb's leg in his mouth and there was no doubt.

The evening that they attacked and killed my wonderful horse that had taken me round Badminton and Burghleigh on two occassions was a wake. She had always been very much a product of the island of her birth, Ireland. Brave, clever, idiosyncratic and slightly nuts but fanatical. At 15.2 carrying 75 kg she had been fearless across country and did fences that some felt were unjumpable. Frank Wheldon thanked me for jumping the triple bounce dog kennel as if it was a small grid and she was pictured jumping the Normandy bank 'with a stride' apparently impossible, easily if for me in a rather heart stopping fashion. But all that was over. Wonderful friends from up the valley came down with their digger and we dug a hole to bury her in. A couple came down as planned from Hampshire to stay and we got stuck into the red wine. Several bottles later the filly wasn't looking to good. I think I was in shock at the whole day. I'd had a three hour lecture on marketing to give Thank god for John Harvey Jones and the VHS machine for providing most of that one, I was in shock at the turn of events.

At some point it was decided that the filly should go to Langford vet college to be operated on. We loaded her up met the vet at the top of Holden Hill and drove to Bristol University Vet school arriving at 3am. She was in distress and had terrible stats. We then drove home the adrenalin that had kept me going to try and save her rapidly deserted me and we stopped again at Taunton for more coffee. Getting back to the farm by 7am we just started the day with lots of bacon and egg and a dullness that suited the moment. The vet college rang to say that the filly had died on the operating table her whole alimentary canal, twisted beyond aid, by being chased over the fence and falling and struggling in the ditch. To dispel the mood we decided to go for a ride on Dartmoor. Got the lorry stuck en route and took hours to get disentangled. Definitely a weekend to forget. Reading David's text brought back the nightmare . How can people lose such control over their dogs? It also reminded me how completely careless people are when looking after themselves. No consideration whatever of the consequences of their actions. It can be very tiring. RIP Bale

Rather a busy time

This afternoon we went on a trip round the harbour on the Matthew. I learned how the lock gates are operated by hydro-power which was fascinating I had had no idea. The occasion being that the Matthew currently part of the Great Bristain Trust is now going to be maintained by its own Trust. She has had a busy time down in Falmouth and up the Channel to London where she apparently appeared out of the fog dressed up as the Dawn Treader as she had for the Narnia films. (Voyage of the Dawn Treader et al) What terrific books they were to read as a child and probably for ever. Though I never like to see a film once I've read the book my vision is never the same as the casting director. Is anyone's? We were entertained by sea shanties and champagne and had a wonderful hour of sunshine unlike the group earlier in the afternoon who had had the misfortune of precipitation. Our Italian guests think that it is always this cold and yet last week it was quite hot and steamy at times. Such is our weather and I'm sure it is cold in the rest of Europe at times.

Tonight a Parish Highways and burial ground meeting. Some heated debate on various issues it is good to have an airing of views and different opinions as it keeps the whole place alive. The Bon jovi parking debacle was to the fore I have been astonished at the complete lack of communication between the Stadium and Long Ashton PC. How very short sited of all those who wish to see a new stadium not to try a bit harder to make sure they had a smooth running of the parking in Long Ashton instead of the complete grid lock that was caused. Vicar stuck for hours parents cut off from their children etc etc. Anyone who was of no fixed opinion is now clearly in the anti camp. Except probably the farmer who sat there raking in the loot for several thousand (or so it seemed) cars.

I visited the burial ground (as requested by our Chair) and was very impressed at how well it looked though there is work to be done. As was suggested it is a pity that the road down to the Church is in such a poor state of repair. Perhaps we should make it a toll road for functions!

Too late tonight but will write on our trip to the festival of eventing with our RDA group. Great fun had by all.

85 years on

My father would have been 85 years old today. He was born and died in this house and loved it dearly. When he retired he turned to the garden with complete zeal making copious notes on every rose. When it came into bud, flowered how good the crop. he sprayed at the first hint or black spot, rust or greenfly. Top Rose filled his boots and the garden was a picture. Amazing for our wedding and for the open garden day when it was featured in the Independent newspaper (when questioned as to what the picture of the famous Edney gates with house behind was of a 3 year old nephew replied 'Grandpa's cat'. . . and so it was sitting at the side of the gate; and we were summoned to help with tea and stand duty on the gate. More than 1200 people turned up we ran out of everything there was to run out of. Tea, milk etc. No farm shop then so much more drastic effort required for recovery.

His last triumph being his and my mother's 50th wedding anniversary which ran to 6 parties over 5 days; everyone having a jolly good time with different musical entertainment and a host of guests. They were in their element. We returned from work on the yacht to join in. For us quite surreal to go from an 8' x5' cabin to call your own to the space here. We started with the Welsh Guards summer party, always good for a jaunt they brought a coach as they did for his funeral and as then they carried off in style and for many hours. The last party was people from the valley and the church and a good time seemed to be had by all.

By the end of the celebrations my father was as he put it, inexplicably tired. We thought at the time that it was age (76) the hot weather and the effort he'd put into the jollity but the week after we returned to work my mother rang me in Antigua to say that he had been diagnosed with prostate cancer and I never saw him well again. He was dead in less than a year.

That is all a long time ago but he would be quite disappointed in the actions of some here now. I often think of us all as 'Shambridge' an everyday tale of country folk. We have had all sorts of shenenagins from drug heists to bean thieves. He would have been astounded at the drugs and cross about the beans. Why would anyone come into the kitchen garden allotments and steal broad beans? What a risk for a few pence worth of one of your 5 a day and 2 years running! Criminal record at best, jail at worst. Bonkers. At least last year they left an empty bottle of vodka. This year just stripped bean plants. Cameras next year its getting like midsomer murders. The mystery of the missing beans. The drug round up found stashes of drugs in woods and fields and led to a conviction (yes made the papers) of a temporary resident. Now its watch out for your washing as apparently their is a designer clothes thief in the village. Am I writing a book. You bet!

The street light at the end of Gatcombe Lane was put there in the 1930's to light the bus stop and make it safe for staff from farm and court getting the bus back from the village in the dark. North Somerset in their wisdom failed to appreciate why the light was there and have moved it across the lane where it no longer fulfills it's purpose. They are trying to pretend that its a question of cost but we all know that in reality it never occurred to them why it was there and as there were trees on the other side it was easier to locate it without cutting any branches. It would not have taken much immagination to have worked it out. Now we are told it is too costly to put right the blunder. Perhaps we should be radical and give financial penalties for this sort of mistake? Would it improve performance?