A day spent working on the cow issue. According to the mayor the farmer is doing well. Very well. Thanks to the recent surge in the price of wheat the money is rolling in. In fact the grain harvest has become so profitable that he's spending all his time on his wheat crop and little or no time on his livestock. The relay of water buckets continues. The mayor drops off some hay which the cows quickly devour .
Angus has a slight run in with the barbed wire around the cows field. Pouring water from a bucket into a trough from the top of slippery slope while simultaneously waving at the post lady not a good idea. ' The font ' drives off to the local town for bandges and antiseptic spray.
A lovely little castle on top of a hill. A wonderful courtyard garedn. The dukes family have occupied the same house since the 12th century. Wars and revolutions passing them by. Sartorial elegance is in short supply. Extremely short supply. Our host greets us in the courtyard. He is dressed in white linen trousers ( with drawstring tied flamboyantly in front ), white linen shirt and bright red Crocs. She, barefooted, is wearing ( so ' the font ' tells me ) a brown calico dress and a pair of huge, dangly, brass earrings.The pair of them completely loopy in the way only the very ancient aristocracy can be.
The duchess is followed everywhere by three clumber spaniels, one of whom , Lucy, is very old. He is followed round by an amiable Newfoundland who rejoices in the name of George. A glass of champagne from Aldi to welcome us across the threshold. For dinner chicken followed by a chunk of brownie and a small scoop of vanilla ice cream . A bottle of elderflower wine . Lucy, as befits her age, gets fed from the table. Afterwards the duchess climbs the steps at the end of the dining room , picks up a violin , scrapes the strings and sings. The duke applauds.The clumbers look on adoringly. George sleeps. We leave.