The last survivor

In hay-fields where the hedge-bough cope
The sunny hedge-bank's flow'ry slope,
Out where the prickly wildrose blows,
Above the bloomy bramble-bows,
Some maiden cries, 'The briars prick
My fingers to the very quick;
Come pull me down a wild rose, do,
For I can't cope with it like you!'

From Flowers A-field by William Barnes (1801-1886)

N and I drove in to Yeovil this morning to collect T's hired wedding outfit for a friend's wedding tomorrow. Visited the butcher's and the bank.

T working hard with his small team to try and get all the cut clover into the silage pit before it drizzles tomorrow and before the wedding in the afternoon. They will probably work into the night. Tess his dog is a bit niffed at not riding with T in the JCB who is compressing the grass as it is emptied into the pit, but she really would get so bored endlessly driving up and down the green slope all day!