Blog: August 2023

The month began with a dead lamb in our paddock; the night before the flock knew life was leaving her; ostracised from the flock she waited alone, weak, dazed, but eased by water. As death inched closer to this shunned and fading presence. Metaphorically, I asked, what if? Had I not been subjected unto this, zeroed demise by that which sort to possess my soul.


We woken at my flat, had breakfast and drove to the farmhouse.

Warned Charlie not to make a show of himself at the show.

After noticing marques had been set up at the Roberton show, Charlie fed the sheep.

Feeding the sheep on the paddock, a lamb who I named "fat lips" after his Orf infection, has scold inbetween his cloven hooves. Charlie requests a can of violet spray.
Still mucking out to do in the poly tunnel, however Charlie has made a significant dent enough to get the tractor trailer in.
It's heartfelt warming when all the lambs come down from the top of the paddock to be with us.

Early, we drove to Jedburgh to pick up a lot we'd won at Brown's auction house. We came with our trailer as we were picking up a three and two-seater leather sofa. The people there were attentive, loading the trailer whilst Charlie strapped everything in. Driving away, we were disturbed to overhear some chanting coming through the loading area of the auction house, sounded African. This view of Borthwick water is refreshing, I took a photograph whilst Charlie, someplace over the road, away from the water, spent a much needed piss.

Borthwick Water.

The three seater sofa was atleast eight foot long, to big to go through the front and rear doors of the farmhouse. With the help of a neighbour we got the eight foot sofa through the hall window and into the living room. We sat down and enjoyed the sofas in a now lively living room that had been used as a cold, dark store room for years.

Farmhouse drive is steep, purchasing a small and strong 4x4 was a necessity.

To purchase ingredients for our panackelty casserole dish we parked up at Cooperative Supermarket in St Boswells. Mintues after a car appears, pulls up beside our car.

“Over hill and highway the banana buggies go, coming on to bring you the Banana Splits show, tra la la, la la la la, tra la la, la la la la, tra la la, la la la la, tra la la, la la la la!”.

A scruffy woman, sporting nike, an army raincoat, deep throated a banana. Then returning from placing the banana skin in the bin she sexual touched herself up in front of our car. These psychological torturers, chasing victims down into decimated haplessness, enabling their spite driven deprivation cult are worst than nounces, they are filth, scum of the earth.

View from Ashkirk to Roberton road.

Unabated, we tended to the welfare of two flocks of sheep at two different locations, then drove along the Ashkirk to Roberton road, the panoramic views of the borders here are outstanding. The openesss of this beautiful view never ceases to invoke awe; enboldening and reinvigorating it is to be outside here.


Got half drunk in Hawick today, visited the Coopers and Trinity bars, enjoyed Tenants larger, and fireball liqueur. There is a man with a dog, he follows me into establishments, appears at events; next time I see him am I going to pull him up. There are other cretins, that socially curdle environments I frequent into discordant dystopias. How wrong, evil, to socially crucify people hapless for so many years, to inflict this degree of detachment to sustain zombifying psychosis. Flaying us of our souls is never enough for these sadistic creatures.

The term insanity, which by defination is detachment, is rarely, if ever used clinically, however the term is used in law.

Insanity [law]: unsoundness of mind or lack of the ability to understand that prevents someone from having the mental capacity required by law to enter into a particular relationship, status, or transaction or that releases someone from criminal or civil responsibility.

If some body is unseated and/or usurped by being driven insane, those who are driving them insane are functioning beyond rational perception, thus acting with impunity.

Walking into Hawick, I crossed paths with a white "Rastafarian", he was holding onto a pack of Tenants larger. Triggered, I recalled my friend with the other white Rastafarian idiot, he scathed upon noticing me walking towards him; protesting innocence. Fear and loathing tentacles of eris reach far into society, a deprivation totalitaranism demanding complete isolation of shunned victims, so they have no chance of recovering from derealisation and depersonalisations, inflicted by slow burn, incremental inductions of targeted trauma.


Another month has passed, only two more days till September. Much commotion outside my flat this morning, I don't react as this aggrevates my generalised anxiety until I have trouble returning to the area. The weather is fine outside, most days I wrestle with irrational aprehensions to initiate enjoying the outdoors.


Been attacked by wasps during the last month, today three wasps were flying upon our car outside Morrisons supermarket, Hawick. I was also attacked yesterday, again at Selkirk, have swollen allergic reaction all down my left leg.

Did you know wasps advertise aggressiveness by the markings on their heads. The more black spots, the more ferocious it is. I've noticed black sheep that are born from a mostly white flock are considerably more fearless, brash and aggressive. Politically correct utopians will denounce this proven theory as racist, deluded, they shun painful home truths of science. Walking into Hawick I met a nice guy at the bus stop who complimented me on my dress, I pointed to my hiking shoes caked in mud and explained I have a fella who works and lives on a farm. The lady with him smiled as I told him my name and shook his hand; and felt myself thaw from icy isolation, just a little.

I had two hours to wait for my B12 injection, so I popped into the Trinity bar, to gain some perspective from the other day. This establishment is friendly and rationalised, a storm brews in here, but do I know what these people have been through, I am a stranger to them. But this town mills reminded me of my mother, who was a linker in the hosiery trade. The B12 injection was straight forward, I am at my last ampoule. The nurse enquired if I felt better for taking them, replying I stated that I fell asleep drinking tea and coffee; both physical and mental health has improved significantly. But being in Hawick has healed me also, having sheltered from suffering extremities of cold and heat, wind and rain.

Late in the evening, returning to the farmhouse I felt ill, walked up the stairs and straight into bed. There has been a pile of logs by the fireplace for two days, but I have been to unwell to burn them. The lambs did not come when I called them for feeding, the recent heavy weather appears to have disociate them.


It's a mild sunny morning and Charlie has rested, I am optimistic that many jobs on the farmhouse are going to be near completed today. Charlie made a significant dig into the poly tunnel muck, loading and transporting five trailers up to the top of the paddock. I cleaned the farmhouse, the amount of dust in the carpet is incredible, emptied the chocked up hoover several times. We noticed work has begun setting up the Roberton show.

Roberton Show.

Visited a Woodside Plant Centre, the establishment was sieving with animosity, more so in their Birdhouse Tearoom, Charlie purchased coffee and strawberry cheesecake as I caught two workers eyes whilst they were having a conversation about us. This happens every time we revisit a place, more so after a duration of time. We bagged chaff for the sheep, and packed two other bags, rich in wheat, for our elderly neighbour [also socially isolated] who enjoys feeding birds in his garden.


Hung over this morning, sleepless during the night with a sore stomach, it's Charlies birthday today. We had a meal in the Cross Keys restuarant in Denholm, the bill came to £56, Charlie is 56 years old today; his birthday, that they cannot overshadow or dispossess hapless. I found such appalling isolatation when I arrived here, no more will they inflict such a deprivation on our people.

Returning to the farmhouse I strimmed the paddock of dock leaves, then hung out with the flock for half an hour. When I sat down to rest, they all came to me, flooded tears to my eyes that these animals can recognise worth in me.

Loli today.

Below was loli in March this year, limp and almost dead from wet mouth. This was my first contact with lambs, so Charlie was distraught. They go downhill so quickly, he had no idea this would happen. I nursed and nursed her until she became well.

Loli in March.

Early on in the day, with the heavy down pour of rain in mind, I took some pictures, let go of sorrows into a burn that flows through the glen by our farmhouse. We have two neighbours that are our friends, they live in the farmhouse cottages and are English. The other neighbours small talk, when they don't want to feel ignorant; at best I believe them [both English and Scots] to be stuck up snobs, at worst haters selectively dispossessing targeted individuals of humanity.

This beautiful, wild, area of the Scottish Borders, that has healed me is what it has been, that which has interacted with me; the other, does not exist; and I am thankful that this void of darkness has hidden itself away, to dissociate and associate with a possessive, interloping evil infusing social absenteeism via the remorseless sociopathic telling of all-out lies. The lowest of the low, and they'll reap what they have sown; edged upon a paddock bank, my eyes wide open.

Jesus returned drawn from the legacy of the Norman Church, but she as a soul flaying invader, culturing a personality cult replaced him by ostracising him hapless, stigmatised as a racist; spite driven with envy from fear and loathing of rejection.

I've always known, as a child I knew that these dispairties cultured into our people are unnatural; I also know where historically where this cold hearted malice has been instilled from, the sickness epicentre of two faced fakery, a runaway saturnalia party, from flames to ashes, risen from diseased flood plains of AD64.


Today I purchased domain URL: and begun coding on VPS hosting. Endeavouring via informed, autonomous reaction, citing destruction of Communism, Marxism and Socialism, and thus secure a validated white future for white people within our white homeland; without cretins who have ruined and sacrificed our people for centuries.

I often take pictures from the roadside, when Charlie stops the car to go for a leak, caused by his furosemide medication.

After a visit to Jedburgh, Charlie dropped me along Hawick High street to do some shopping. Figuring a no to do I walked the length, over the river Teviot, stopped at William Lockie, then past Sainsbury's and Aldi supermarkets, crossed over the Teviot again and took a left. At the end of the street I stumbled upon a lively establishment named the Trinity Bar.

The Trinty bar
Overweight, obese me.
Half soul flayed, defaced unseen.

I drank Tenets with Fireball chasers as I observed the pub, the bar maid rushed off her feet and a group of men gathered around the pool table. Beside me was an old guy named Ian Armstrong, he told me he could not see, asked me to light his cigarette, then sometime later lit it himself up; he pulled out a twenty pound note, asked if the note was ten, my honesty?

Two Americans present in the bar, one American was wearing a Rastafarianism hat, with a Manchester United football tracksuit top. I thought him an idiot, seeing him on the street in Hawick and talking to him only proved the assumption correct. The other American obnoxiously lied his head off, was touchy-feely, drunk and worrying about his shortfall of money.

He described his reversed swastika pendant as being symbolic of unity of people that did not fit in, little did he fathom that he had actually been pushed out hapless. Who or what had painted this "red devil" with muralism, and from whose menacing rod, had landed this man, cast into Hawick.
It was good to watch people socialising with one another, reassuring me, that logo's presentation of acquired beliefs, do not make a person who they are; leave a forensic footprint, of the contempt who those who had decided what they were.

"Jessie paint your pictures
About how it's gonna be
By now I should know better
Your dreams are never free"

He was well known to the bar, including the barmaid whom, jokingly, wanted him pushed into the rain puddle outside. As the fear of getting wet, had stationed him, for at least ten minutes, at the porch of the bar door. The duke box behind me was being repaired after almost being pulled off the wall from a bar brawl. I found the bar jubilant and rowdy, not violent.

A blonde middle-aged woman came and seated herself a few yards away from me at the bar; she was glared, scrutinising at my presence from sporting a garish blue and red leopard print top. Strangeness the animosity for people, not just in Hawick, but from everybody, everywhere I go; considering none of them knew me, other than what the cult has told them.

Another red sat himself at the bar and seemed to view my cooperative motions with Charlie with distain.

I knocked back four pints and six fireball chasers before Charlie arrived at the bar in his car from finishing work. He ordered a pint of bitter, whilst I encouraged him to play a game of pool. As I did, he lost the game, but denounced himself as a bad player rather than complimenting his opponent on their winning. The police entered, searching for a man, not present.

I felt safe and enjoyed my time inside the bar, but I could easily see why others, feeble and unfamiliar with Scotland, might find this rough and ready establishment intimidating. Exiting the bar, we travelled to the farmhouse with an eager necessity to tend to the welfare of the sheep and dog; we planned to return and continue drinking at the bar, but without the car.

And the rain poured down as workmen, outside the Trinity bar, endeavoured to contruct Hawick's flood defences.

We walked the high street, stopping at the Queens head, where we were bemused by a middle-aged woman who bared an uncanny resemblance to Pauline from the League of Gentleman; not just by her appearance, but by her social presentation. Despondence was greeted by a deep voiced, wide shouldered elderly woman that made an effort to be friendly.

Seated in the Cooper's bar were creepy males, we noticed a handicapped man I had recognised from the Waverley bar, he flopped his bare basketball belly up and down as he stumbled across an eighties style, disco lit dance floor. Charlie commented on the barmaid being unfriendly, in observant retrospective of the bar's creepy clientele, I replied "rightly so".

Further along the high street we noticed a lively Office Bar, but at this stage of the evening, after the last two bars, did not feel lively enough to enter. We found our one time professional darts player neighbour seated alone in the Exchange Bar, seating ourselves with drinks we humoured him with a caricature description of our day out in Hawick.


I have pain in my body from over use of a strimmer; the dock leaves on the paddock have been shredded now. Sam [Charlie's rescued sheepdog] enjoyed what we could not eat of the steak and onion pie late last night. He sits in his kennel a lot because there is not much to do about him in there. Through his anxieties he appears to view the eventuality of his world as a hauntology omen, often I coax him into the farmhouse with a dog treat. Sam enjoys chewy sticks and meaty strips; loud noise stresses him but excited he chases, encircling motion.

Initally we built the kennel so Sam could have dry off time before re-entering the farmhouse.
Frozen solitude seems to abate his anxieties, but this isn't living is it, he has to be thawed out.

I enjoy staying at the farmhouse, similar to Sam unnatural noises bother me, because of hypersensitivity wrought from hypervigilance. Even after one year sheltered inside a flat, I am trigger jumpy, tormented with flashbacks rewinding and playing over day after day, week after week, month after month and year after year of targeted ritualised abuses. Few enablers assisting replacement migration know how it feels to be shunned hapless as a dispossessed, demonised and terrorised opportunity mule for so long, nor empathise any extent of loss.

They care for nothing other than to see us prepetually displaced hapless, and terrorised lifeless.


The sheep, contented on chewing cud, were unmotivated to return to the paddock and graze. Loli, one of my cade lambs, stood against the gate, refusing to move whilst I attempted to close the flock into the paddock. Winter is approaching and there is so much to do with mucking out and improving ventilation of the poly tunnel. Charlie put up the poly tunnel when the farmhouse barn was sold off for property development, but years later the land is still idle, thank god.

The kitchen garden is ruined, but we learned a lot about growing vegetables in the Scottish Borders environment.

Our kitchen garden is dead, blight killed our potato crop, birds ate our onions, swedes, and French dwarf beans. We learned a lot about growing veg within the Scottish Borders, and next year plan for a bountiful garden. We are planting blight resistant potatoes, placing boards underneath the garden's perimeter fencing and hanging bird nets; this should be enough unless addition measures are thought of. This is the first time in a decade I've made plans months ahead.

At this stage I was optimistic this steak pie would be a success.

In the evening, I made an attempt at baking a steak and kidney pie. Charlie purchased chopped steak and a joint of silverside, the silverside was better quality meat, and more of it for a cheaper price. I enjoyed mixing the ingredients together and rolling out the pastry; topping the pie with a pastry tractor emblem before brushing on an egg yolk glaze. The farmhouse oven / cooker has become unpredicable after twenty years of use, which is difficult as I rely heavily on predictability, observations obscured due to being traumatised blind with abuses.

The egg glaze burned, next time I'll cover the top with foil until the pie is cooked, allowing five minutes uncovered for the top to brown.

For half an hour this pie seemed not to have cooked, ten minutes later Charlie peeked inside the oven to find the egg glaze had burned. With reinvigorated faith, he placed the pie onto a lower shelf, and turned on pots of potatoes, cabbage and carrots I'd chopped earlier. Potatoes were mashed undercooked, so we placed the mash into a microwave, the vegetables were OK. We ate late at 10:30pm, tearfully tired was I but hid this from Charlie who'd had a long day at work. Failures provide insight, so all is, alas, not lost; he enjoyed the pastry.


This morning I walked about the farmhouse garden, at a glance there isn't much to see, but the small amount of flowers here are absolutely bonnie.

We treated the sheep at our paddock for fluke; this was a precautionary measure as a young lamb died of fluke at one of our grass keeps; the older ewes appear resilient, but we treated them also.

Most of Charlie's sheep are spread across three grass keeps, in a few days only lambs will graze up the hillside paddock, adjacent to our farmhouse.

We first tried to deliver the wormer in incremental shots with a drench gun, but this just squeezed doses of air. We opted to use a syringe tube, as at least we knew that these sheep were receiving their medicine.

Late morning we re-visited the Craik, this time equipt with wellies on our feet. We noticed the fungi on the floor, from darker, cold months to come.

Charlie wadded through the woodland burn first, with no problems.

We arrived at Wolfcleuch waterfall, we tried to get here a week ago, but had no means to cross the burn.

My cade lambs came to see me whilst I was removing dock leaves from the farmhouse paddock with an electric strimmer.

Cooked toad-in-the-hole for Charlie's tea.

Opened the gate and lit the poly tunnel for the sheep, they were freaked out at 9:30pm this evening [a few hours after I posted about the cade lambs visiting me]; Charlie suspects a fighter jet plane, however the sheep are still in the poly tunnel an hour later, and not chewing cud ho hum.


Today, we returned to England to fetch...

Took some time to waste this sheep trailer out.
The furniture we purchased fitted no problem.

three auction lots from Railtons, Wooler.


Midday we visited Maelin henge.

We found a reconstruction of a medieval house.

Beautiful butterflies walking through Maelin meadow.

We arrived at Flodden field, 6000 Scottish + 1 King and 2000 English people brutally slaughtered each other here; I am proud of either sides bravery yet angry at the Catholic church, for insighting them to do it.

Scent of roses in the car park were calming.

The beach at Spital, Berwick-on-tweed was beautiful, I adore the serenity of this beach..

These places, sparse spaces fill me with awe, not emptiness.

Over the horizon seen through mind's disociate eye.

Contented to be myself as sickness eternal dwells with those who lie damnation to be without self; selflessness as if existence of legacy never mattered at all.

We drove back to the Scottish Borders at speed, because end of the end journeys can be tiring.


After almost dying several times my Cyclamen plant has flowered :) Pliny the Elder describes how this planet [native to Europe] was called in antiquity by Roman country men: tūber terrae, literally "earth truffle" or also amulētum "amulet", because it was believed that evil spells had no effect where it grew.

Tonight, as we filled up with diesel at Morrisons Supermarket garage a woman came out from purchasing fizzy drink and sweets, she nodded to another pump user [probably met each other at one of the secret gatherings] before remarking:

“I did it because there is nothing in this world worse than a goddess beast.”.

She left the station, we followed her down the A7 (going our way), she sped and turned onto the B711 road to Roberton, driving at speed in an attempt to lose us. We drove out our normal speed and figured she had either turned off on the Harden Burn road, or had turned into a lit driveway shortly before the Harden Burn T-junction. One has to wonder why the malevolent cretin did want us knowing where she was going.

We had not said anything to her, nor gave indication that we had heard what she had said, but it was clear to us that she was one of "them", and why she was at the garage [did not purchase fuel]. The hatred for me, since returning from India is absolutely viral; together with a shattered cognition means I have to take photographs and video short clips to comprehend, place and figure A, B and C together.