Journalists with clearly little imagination and certainly no morals are spewing out the same tired old story, full of half truths and inconsistencies.
I usually scroll past the endless social media posts, sometimes reading a few comments, but mostly I ignore the countless “I had a mate that knew a chap that worked on the motorway” type remarks and laugh at the “They got paid out millions” ones.
The level of vitriol never ceases to amaze me, anger directed towards us, who incidentally weren’t even born at the time, for being greedy and holding out for more money.
Apparently, the current ‘owner’ gets paid £30,000 a year for allowing the motorway to cross his land! I wonder what Paul does with his annual payment, perhaps he has been squirrelling it away for years and unbeknownst to me has another life; fast cars, luxury holiday homes and a wardrobe full of designer clothes I’ve never stumbled across!
I’ve long since given up trying to correct people as it always falls on deaf ears, but I broke my own rule when someone was repeatedly making slanderous remarks about the Wild family, in particular Ken.
In Paul’s words, Ken was an incredibly kind, respectful man who went above and beyond to help him.
With no fuss, he quietly accepted the fate of Stott Hall Farm. It’s not only upsetting but infuriating to see such utter rubbish being spoken about a man that Paul holds in such high regard.
I foolishly allowed myself to be drawn into a debate with an arrogant man who was aggrieved at the amount of trouble Ken caused when the motorway was being constructed.
I sometimes wish Ken had put up a fight, not that the outcome would have been any different. But he didn’t, he graciously accepted the inevitable.
The annual Whitefaced Woodland breed sale kept us busy last weekend. We had our usual to-ing and fro-ing whilst deciding which sheep were staying and which were going.
With an outstanding pen of tups entered, almost too good to let go of, plus shearling and draft ewes, we were hopeful for a good trade.
Eventually we narrowed it down, I gave their legs a good scrub the morning of the sale and ensured they were Whitefaced Woodlands, not Peatfaced Woodlands!
It was great to see the sheep shed full of fantastic Woodlands with plenty of new faces perusing the pens. Paul secured the tup he had his eye on which will introduce some new blood into our flock.
As dad had bought himself a tup, the little guy was desperate to have his own purchase.
He set his sights on a Charollais tup and after confirming with the breeder there would definitely be luck money, marched to the sale ring and kept his arm aloft until the hammer went down!