Jonathan: By mid afternoon the day looked set to end as it started – dreary. Not windy – a flat calm. Not wet – nothing more than a spot or two. Not grimly overcast – just a dull grey blanket of cloud. Just dreary. Not that we couldn’t work outdoors if we really wanted to: but dreary seemed a good – or bad – enough excuse to spend the day on indoors jobs. But just as we were clearing up from our evening meal, the sky lightened and cleared … and out we went to sort wool. Our neighbour DJ sheared most of his sheep yesterday: they’re a motley lot, and as much Blackface as Cheviot. But fresh from the shears and sorted and graded as soon as possible we can make something decent with them: in this case a white blend to complement and contrast with the black Hebridean. So out at the front of the house we set up a couple of make-shift benches; we dragged the woolsack back out of the store; and in the course of a couple of hours we’d worked through the lot: softest and finest set aside for hand spinning, but the greater part of the whole lot back into the woolpack for sending to thee mill for spinning. The waste – mostly the kemp and the dags – piled up on the ground as we worked, with Tilly woffling her nose into the smelliest bits and the cats chasing locks caught in the wind. So there we are with greasy hands, wisps of wool stuck to my beard and a lock of wool behind D’s ear, and into the garden comes a very petite woman, very neatly dressed, looking for some eggs to buy. What a contrast!