Having been woken up at 6.30 this morning by what sounded suspiciously like a rave party about 10 miles down the road (yes, we do get rave parties in the Alps,) I decided to do the rounds of our fields and see how the baling was going.

My husband has been out baling until midnight the last two evenings, so I had plenty of choice.

This field is so steep, that my father-in-law has to stand at the back of the baler with a pitchfork and ensure that the bales don’t go rolling down the hill:

I love watching that and would never usually miss it, but as baling this field required them both, it meant that there was nobody left to bring the sheep down off the mountain and back to the barn.

So guess who got to do that. All by herself.

But that’s another story…