It's a good thing there's no sound on this blog otherwise you'd be deafened. I'm very pleased to say it's the builders and I'm certainly not stopping them. They're busy dismantling the inside of the bunkhouse ready to transform it into our cottage - and what a transformation that will be.
Another exciting event that has taken place is that we have now permanently moved into Plas y Nant and are living in the caravan and chapel - on a temporary basis of course. I have to admit that for the first few nights I didn't sleep a wink. You see we're actually sleeping in the chapel and as my loyal followers know the chapel does have quite a few bats hanging about in the two rooms below it and I'm not too keen on bats. I examined every beam of the main chapel ceiling for evidence of them and although I couldn't see any, once I got into bed I was convinced they were flying around and going to get tangled in my hair. I even considered sleeping in a hairnet - but that suggestion didn't go down too well with someone. However, I never thought I'd say this but after living in close proximity with them I do quite like them now, especially as they eat all the flying ants which I absolutely detest.
Life is certainly not dull now that we have finally moved in. The other day I successfully dealt with my first intruders. I was busily fighting my way through the brambles around the pond in the lost gardens of Betws Garmon when I heard Alfie and Smidge furiously barking away. After the previous incident of Alfie and the chickens in Ruskington I attach both him and Smidge to the garden table by long leads whenever I'm working outside, just incase he takes it into his head to go and visit the sheep in the neighbouring fields. Hastily I fought my way up from the pond with Pops to see Alfie and Smidge desperately trying to drag the table towards the chapel, whose door I had left open to help dry out the damp. My heart started thumping away as I realised I would have to go and confront whoever had sneaked in so arming myself with the nearest weapon, a garden trowel, I marched in demanding that whoever was in there get out and make themselves known only to be met by two sheep who had wandered in out of curiosity. I could have hugged them!
The routine of everyday life in a caravan has taken a bit of getting used to, especially clothes washing. I have treated myself to a caravan washing machine which basically whooshes around a small amount of clothes for fifteen minutes, these then have to be hand rinsed then popped in the spinner before hanging out to dry. That'll be no problem, I thought, when I first arrived, but I hadn't really appreciated the amount of washing we generate and the number of hours I now spend attached to this machine and the kitchen sink is unbelievable. I briefly debated doing a bit of naturist gardening to cut down on the washing but there's too many brambles and nettles and I don't want to scare the builders. I now look longingly at my full size, fully automatic washing machine sitting in storage in the main house and have promised it that I will never take it for granted again.