A moving experience.

OK. so my blogs are like buses - they come all at once - and yes, I apologise for using a.n.others subject, but I couldn't resist it, and it's too much for a comment.

My moving experience was when we were trying to sell to come to France, or rahter ex-OH wanted to sell.

We had a couple come round - they had loads of money, wanted to turn the barns into garages for his collection of cars, wanted isolation, loads of bedrooms for her many furs and gold jewellery (got the picture?).

All went well, with the usual "we'll do this, knock this down, do that" etc. until they asked about the neighbours.

Those of you who watched the first series of "The Lakes" will have seen George, the egg man.
George was our nearest neighbour, about a mile away as the crow flies. He, too, was a farmer, and when ex-OH broke his leg one December, was a good friend and help to me.

George would come and help me with the sheep and lambing (we had about 500 ewes then), and literally could clock me leaving the lambing tunnel in the field, walk down the yard, take my boots off and go into the house. He would then phone me to see how my day went.

Now, I knew he had his binoculars trained onto our yard for his timing to be so precise.

So when the prospective purchasers of our farm asked about the neighbours, I told them that I was getting mugs printed with TEA and COFFEE on them! Why - if we stood our on the back terrace and George had his binoculars on us he would know what we were drinking!!

She obviously also wanted to sunbathe naked (judging by the tan that too cost-a-plenty) so George and his binocs. didn't go down at all well.

Ex-OH was amused either, he thought he had a sale in the bag there!