What a Pong!.

It is our good fortune, most of the year, to live next door to a dairy farm; for the rest of the year it stinks.
Today Mr Farmer is working in the fields. His tractor is at one end of about a mile of super-sized hosepipe, the other end is connected to a slurry tank via an industrial pump, and he is driving up and down this field spraying muck all over the place; it's a job that he does twice a year and it takes about three weeks of the right sort of weather to disperse both the smell and its cause.
The field is a factory for turning manure into silage and the cows are machines for turning silage back into slurry; in my cynical brain, milk is merely the by-product.

Tomorrow, I will be happy, it will be Wednesday and, at long last, the Wednesday trike has been repaired.