Diary: July 23

Continued 2/3.

11th

We drove early in the morning to Carlisle for Harrison & Hetherington's fortnightly auction at Borderway Mart. We arrived for viewing an hour after opening time; there were a fifty or so bidders there. We had already viewed this auction on the internet, but were keen to examine the items by hand. Among items of interest were two framed prints of highland farm life, singer sewing machines, a coffee table and other items of furniture. The bidding commence around eleven o'clock, each lot took about twenty seconds to briefly show and auction. To our bemusement, under the hammer, was a comical red and black Chinese suit.

The auctioneer helper, as he showed the item to the bidders, pulled his eyes back into slits as he wore the suit's kippa hat upon his balding head, we laughed rapturous; whilst remembering a playground song, "Chin chin chinaman". I declared, to hell with political correctness, in hell shall it belong, damnation eternal with mass murderer Mao Zedong. There were over two hundred lots to be called before our items, so we took a break and visited the cattle markets café. We enjoyed Salmon pasta bake with chips with a drink of coffee; seated opposite was a couple I recognised, Charlie in comment declared "this could be anywhere, farmer taking his daughter and granddaughter out to a mart".

Information boards told of, in some detail, this historic cattle market's two hundred-year-old history. I wondered how our ancestors felt must have felt being here, investing their meagre wages, in optimism of a prosperous livelihood; simple things we take for granted were hard won for them, barely within grasp of their worn hands, chapped with calluses. We stopped at a supermarket after seeing a sign advertising coffee for £1 a cup, but not noticing the small print requesting the purchase of a sandwich together with the takeaway coffee. We drank the coffee in a lay by in Longtown, before cross the border into Scotland; in many ways I have missed the warmness of English people.

9th

Charlies rescue dog, Sam, attacked me this morning when I tried to offer him biscuits, only yesterday he attacked Charlie when he tried to get him into another room; Sams recent behavour is concerning.

Hen and Chickens.
Hen and Chickens.

Did some gardening today, blitzed masses of dock leaves with a strimmer, pulled out nettles and cleavers, trimmed back a shrub, and pruned a rose bush hedge. Charlie lit the incinerator before disappearing to work.

8th

Today, I accompanied Charlie to his workplace.

He works with coos, lots of cows.

Below left is the cow feeder, and pictured right is the crusher.

The crusher keeps a cow still whilst tending to their welfare, but I don't agree with using the crusher for this.

A cow's milk is obviously better for the calf than substitute powered milk, and comparing the health of calfs there is a noticeable difference; but adoption (parenthood) should never be forced upon any creature.

Baby calf feeding from a teat attached to a bucket.

Interesting to know that a cows ears lower when they are feeling unwell. Lambs are fed via a teat attached to a bottle, calfs use a bucket!

This one had a teat attached to what appeared to be a wine bottle.

Each of the three calfs took two bottles, the previous calf wanted milk from the turn of the calf thereafter, so a degree of patience is required when feeding.

The cow pictured below right is known as a Belgium blue.

It's not hard to see why people should never strike violence upon cows.

Mullein is an expectorant, helpinf the body expel excess mucus, by helping make your coughs more productive. It is also a demulcent, creating a soothing anti-inflammatory coating over mucous membranes.
I think this maybe a baby or an adult peacock feather.

I found being around these cows calming, giving me perspective of just how erratic my disturbed mind is throughout the day. I was not bored or bothered whilst I waited for Charlie to finish his work.

7th

At midday, we, me and a friend, walked over Galalaw hillside, admiring wild flowers along the way.

Large yellow loosestrife.
Wild morning glory.
Pincushion flower.
Honeysuckle.
Ruberslaw hill fort.
Common Poppies.
Common Poppy.
Hawick from Galalaw viewpoint.
Ruberslaw hill fort.
Broom.
Rosebay Willowherb.
Hemp Nettle.
Red Elderberry.

I enjoyed the hillwalk, and hope I've burned some calories from the sixteen stone I now weigh.

6th

Slept uncomfortable on my fake leather sofa all night, non compos mentis to notice Charlie complaining against absence of presence. I am old, and cold, I feel for him at length knowing that I will never be warmed enough from the chilling emotional borderline personality disorder I endure; imprinted onto rationalisations from expectations that could almost be foreseen as social / emotional obligations of expressing mutuality. I know that there are parts of me missing, and this heartfelt troubles me significantly. During the afternoon I recieved a ting from facebook messenger, a neighbour had reported five lambs had escaped the farmhouse paddock and were baiting angry Scottish blackfaces along the lane. The message was unclear as to wether he'd returned the lambs back into the safety of the paddock.

5th

Today I took some walking exercise along Borthwick valley. After a walk through the grounds of Chisholme house, noticing pink and white woodland fox gloves, then down a hill, through grazing fields, I noticed the gate fastenings were made from wire. A few hundred yards along the Borthwick water I found an old disused church I'd seen many times, and recently photographed from the Roberton / Craik Forest road.

Bonnie heather emerging from the Scottish Borders.

About a house adjacent to the church, there was a friendly Northumbrian couple [not Scottish although ancestrally they might very well be] tending to their garden. They talked about the old church once being a Youth Hostel, told of pony trekking through the valley, and that they had once been asked to be wardens for the hostel. The church is now being restored by another couple, who want to let the building as a holiday cottage, before relocating and retiring there.

Crossing Borthwick water I walked with caution over a bridge, a sign on the bridge declared the bridge to be an unsafe structure, recommending crossing for only one person at a time. The pain in my feet decided whether to continue in the direction of Roberton or walk back towards the Craik. The graveyard was peaceful, I took off my hat as I passed by because old customs of our people are important. I would have no mind for Christianity if generations of our ancestors psyche had not been scarred by the churches horrific self loathing doctrines.

I noticed a hundred or so sheep penned, with four cars parked outside a busy barn; I wondered if they were either these ewes were being sheered, or that they were being separated from their lambs. The mile or so walk was hard on my feet, I desired to walk further towards the Craik, but foot and ankle pain did not permit. To the farmhouse gate Charlie returned from work, noticing a sick Zwartble ewe. He brought down the ewe from her feet whilst I filled 3 mm of dark coloured antibiotic into a syringe; it pains me to witness the flock unwell.

In the evening I found my new bathroom scales, purchased from Amazon, had arrived at my doorstep. I weighed myself in at 103 kg; then did a BMI calculation which stated I need to lose 30 kg+, a third of my body weight, because I am obese. I must have been heavier because I have lost some weight over the last fortnight; scary to know the BMI calculator suggested a visit to the doctors because I am now at risk of type 2 diabetes.

Declining mental health, and not exercising enough, is to blame; I don't often over eat. I am determined to make the move to a more active lifestyle, starting today! Charlie came with winding clock keys and attempted, for two hours, to start my new pendulum clock. He found a key that almost fit and began to wind both the chimes and the hands. The clock is very simple, no fancy wood carvings, but the sound of the tick-tock and the striking chimes are endearing.

4th

We made a plan to travel to Galashiels and then to Selkirk after the auction we had planned to visit was another week away. Driving to Hawick along the Roberton road Charlie stopped to take a leak [his medication makes him go to the toilet alot] in a parking layby; looking out of the car window I thought "what the hell is this"?

Those who mocked Jesus put a reed in His hand as a mock staff to make fun of His “Kingship.” After mocking Him, they took the reed back into their own hands and began to strike Jesus on the head with it.

And then this, most weird looking moth.

Angle shades moth.

After picking up our friend in Hawick we travelled to Selkirk and visited Halliwell's House museum; was free entry and no religious cranks came.

4th

Poor Charlie, I am so moody today; so many messages were relayed through my mind last night. As I sat down in an armchair the unheated room ached my bones with intense, lingering pain, I believe this to be damage caused by sleeping outside, suffering extremities of bone biting cold.

3rd

Feeding the flock we transported to the paddock yesterday, we noticed how disturbed they were, in contrast to the other sheep that have been grazing at the paddock for a couple of months. They, two tups, one ewe with two lambs, stood at the top of the hill watching the others feed. Now some might say this is because they have been unsettled because of displacement, but at both grass keeps the flocks are very jumpy, and near impossible to round up.

At the first grass keep, the landowner could not get them to go anywhere, and two days ago we only managed to round up six. The first grass keep is remote, there are only two nearby houses located on a dead end road; no public footpaths are nearby. The second grass keep having a footpath running one side and a road the other. At this grass keep, one lamb died from ingestion of weedkiller, another was mauled to death. Whilst shearing we found hedge trimmings had tied the legs together of one ewe, another lame with a thorn in her hoof.

The Scottish Borders village of Deanburnhaugh, known locally as paradise lost. Situated almost eight miles from Hawick, deep in the Borthwick valley, the village of Deanburnhaugh was founded on farmland worked since the 14th century. The settlement was a waypoint on an ancient drove road from Langholm to Selkirk. This route essentially became redundant with the building of "Martin's Brig" in 1826. The village once boasted a healthy population of over 100 people, as noted in the 1834 Statistical Account of Scotland. The March 1851 census shows that Deanburnhaugh consisted of 26 houses, a cobbler's, lodge, tavern (centre house of the existing cottages), a grocer's, post office, school, and a joiner's shop (which survived well into the next century).

Sheep do get bothered, have problems, but how disturbed they are is concerning; we have noticed contention to our presence from people driving by in cars. Few borders people actually know us, several months I've resided here yet have still to make one Scottish friend; such is the fever pitch state of spite that egalitarian enablers of Martinism enjoy making a ostracised nobody as much as they enjoy making their replacement a treasured somebody; is this a reverence of soul skinning perfection, or could Scotland just be very unfriendly?

Charlie has recently been concerned at the state of the second grass keep perimeter fence, lambs will be taken from their mother ewes soon; Charlie reckons ewes will stray into other fields looking for missing lambs. Last night we stayed awake till midnight watching a series called the "following"; uncanny in many aspects of the cult of dePorress, ethnocentric and homogenous psyche alienated and mutilated with defacing acts of miscegenation. Lineages, wagered and diced, exploiting every perceivable indifference to culture more disparity.