Pigs

Down at the Oak there has been movement on the pig venture, originally suggested in January: the project has been resurrected, not forgotten as I cynically suspected, Spring is here, their thoughts have drifted towards organic food, complementary agriculture, frugal self sufficiency, bartering and pigshit, perhaps bullshit? Last weekend saw the pig hut transported to a section of David’s land adjacent to the canal. Cockney Mick had constructed the ‘chalet’ in the beer garden of the pub. 

Made from 20mm cladding board it sits upon two industrial pallets having a cubic capacity of 12 metres standing 2 metres from the ground to the pitch of the roof. It has taken a full week to organise a vehicle to transport the pen up to the land. Whilst the ‘shed’ had remained empty during the past seven days the Doc has already evicted two winos, three illegal immigrants along with two teenagers dressed in pink rubber suits. So it was a relief for everyone concerned that Saturday the 24^th  at midday had been agreed for the re-siting of the construction. Knocker, Paul Higham, the big words contest winner, Andy Lewis, Preacher Steven, Jimmy the Axe and Still Waters lifted the beast onto a curtain sided Higham’s Florist van to journey the two miles to the pre-selected site. The chalet now stands like a rustic medieval edifice back dropped on it’s northern edge by a feudal, tousled copse, but it is encircled perfectly on it’s southern border by intermittently, spongy-green, wetland coarse reeds and grasses. 

The muddied victorious six returned to the Oak for a well earned breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, black pudding, plum tomatoes, beans and Bollinger. And so, by 12.45pm mission accomplished it had been celebrated as a success, the first stage of the operation enjoyably rewarded by the extended lunch. An electric fence was installed during the week, later it is planned that the roof of the pen will be camouflaged by fishing nets, finally, for the comfort of the inmates straw bales will be liberally scattered in the sleeping bays. “We are ready for pigs!” was the cry in the Oak on Friday night.       

Sunday morning found Jo and I wandering along the canal to witness for ourselves this mighty wooden apparition.

Sure enough we were not disappointed the structure is visible from at least two miles away emerging from the gentle rolling pastures like a brightly lit Mormon tabernacle. On closer inspection the chalet does not impose itself unduly on the landscape. But perhaps when copiously smothered in green paint and disguised by small shrubs the errant, hopeful pig farmers may possibly not lose their first litter to ‘Lower Ince Rustlers’ or ‘The notorious Pig Bandits of Skem’.