A Bridge Too FARM

This isn't an interesting or well-planned post, so it doesn't get an interesting or well-planned pun. Sorry to disappoint, Constant Readers.

I realized that I never filled in the correct number of days that a roll of toilet paper would last me, because at the time of my posting it hadn't run out yet!

The answer is, "Eight days, almost to the hour."

The duck head count on the farm has been as follows: 2, then 4, then 3. We are now up two laying females and down one jackass male (who was probably eaten by a fox).

Yesterday my hosts dug up the first of their home-grown potatoes. They were delicious, and I felt almost TOO Irish eating them.

Speaking of Irish foods, they gave me some black pudding as part of my cook-for-myself supplies. For the unfamiliar, black pudding is packaged like sausage, but the contents are pork (about 25%), pork rind, pork blood, oatmeal, spices. When cooked, it has an enjoyable crispy almost-meat-like outside and a disturbing squishy pudding-like inside. I didn't despise it, but I won't be ordering it again intentionally. Maybe I should try white pudding instead (substitute milk for blood).

I'm going to try and get out more. I talked with my hosts about leaving early (which I will, by just a couple of days) and they thought my main problem was just boredom. It's probably a factor in my sometimes-rotten mood, so I'm going to stop spending my evenings cooped up in the caravan. Wish me luck! Next post may just have a Clonakilty pun, since that's the first place to visit!