Yesterday I got a new phone. It's an apple iphone SE, my first iphone. But I don't think I'll use it just yet. My old Nokia still works fine, even though it has been dropped countless times, it still does most of what I want it to do, calls, texts, and the odd grainy photo. The only thing that doesn't work is the torch, but I bought an LED torch for 1.99 so that will do instead. I don't need it to access the internet, even though I get 2 gigs of data every month with my package. Yesterday the phone shop wasn't too busy, well it wasn't busy at all actually because I was the only customer there. So I asked the sales assistant how big is 2 gigs in layman's terms?
It's about 1 hour on youtube. WTF use is that? I was telling her I was going to keep it in the box, will it be ok to leave it there until I need it? Sure, it's your phone, when her Dad gets a new upgrade he gives it to one of his kids. I'm thinking of doing the same, give it to my 11 year old for christmas. She said you could sell it if you want, loads of people do,it's your phone. So when I got home with my new phone I looked it up on a few selling sites, the phone that I paid €69 for can be sold for something like €250 to €400.
Why? Let's go back in time a bit. About a month ago I got a text saying I was due an upgrade. I went on to my 'service' provider's website, got chatting on line to somebody from India about my upgrade, went over and back to a few review sites on the net, then looked up prices etc. I discovered that the iphone SE has a 12 megapixel camera, that's cool I thought, my Nikon digital slr only has 10 megapixels, it's also slightly smaller than more modern phones (remember I still have a Nokia) so that helped. I did no more about it. But for about two weeks my old reliable Nokia became very unreliable, dropped calls, my wife asking why don't you answer your phone etc. missed calls. I smelt a rat.
Then about 10 days ago I was driving the tractor when a Polish guy rang me from my 'service' provider, guess what, I was due an upgrade. I stopped the tractor, he was a bit surprised when I told him I used a Nokia phone. He thought I had some sort of Samsung (my last upgrade). I told him that the terrier sank his teeth into the screen about a month after I got it and I went back to using a Nokia. I told him I was interested in the iphone SE, no surprise to him haha, so I ordered it, said I'd pick it up in my local 'service' provider's shop.
So here I am with a perfectly good Nokia and a brand new iphone still in the box (despite my 11 year old son's protestations) that I don't really need. It cost me €69 and a 24 month contract which includes 2 gigabites of data (WTF), 150 minutes of talk time and 150 texts for €23 (incl. VAT) per month. What's the catch?
24 months @ €23 is €552. I used the calculator on my Nokia to work that out! Ok maybe I could get a pay as you go deal from a different 'service' provider for €15, but I'd probably have to buy a phone and a sim card for €250 minimum.
I think it's being locked in for 24 months is where the catch is, it probably costs my 'service' provider virtually nothing to provide me with 150 minutes of talk time. I don't know how much apple charge my 'service' provider, but I'm guessing it's about half what the average joesoap can buy a phone for (250/2) so €125 approx. So they make €427 - the cost of calls (virtually nothing)+€69 out of selling me a new phone.
Oh, I nearly forgot, my 'service' provider retail outlet was selling an otterbox defender cover for €49, the same cover can be bought on line for €15. My Nokia doesn't need a cover, and only needs to be charged twice a week. You should have seen the amount of shit inside my Nokia when the sales assistant opened it to see if I needed a new sim card!
I think the iphone is the carrot to get people to sign a new contract. There's a joke going around about the new iphone X,
how do you milk a sheep?
Launch a new iphone.
In conclusion I'll leave you with a quote from The Grapes of Wrath;
'The first time I heard the word service was when my daddy was taking a heifer to the bull. So now everytime I hear the word service I can't help wondering just who is gettin' screwed?'.
Tuesday, September 26, 2017
Friday, September 1, 2017
Half way to forty hammers.
The Man With Forty Hammers.
I used to work in Co Clare in a lab. Part of the job was taking samples from sites around the county. We drove past a small workshop and the guy driving said 'That man has forty hammers'.
A couple of weeks ago I bought a ballpien hammer from a travelling salesman. I didn't really need another hammer, but I bought it anyway to hansel the man, it was a wet day and he'd been travelling over a hundred miles and I was his first customer. I sometimes think I bring good luck to these people, if they make a sale to me early in the day then the rest of the day will be good for them.
It's the blue hammer towards the lower middle.
Anyway I started thinking how many hammers have I? So yesterday I gathered them all up and laid them out on a pallet. I found 18 including a mallet, there was one in the car and another in the jeep, actually the one in the jeep is a fencing pliers, but it can be used to hammer in a staple. So I'm half way there, to the man with 40 hammers that is, if you will allow me to count the fencing pliers as a hammer.
What's the big deal with hammers you may ask? Well to put it simply the hammer is the mother of all tools. When our ancestors picked up a rock to bash a nut open that was the first rudimentary tool. To make a better tool they shaped flints with another stone and so on until we started to melt ores and cast them. Today hammers are still used by a few of us on a daily basis. Most of the farmers I know have at least one hammer, some have two or three, but 20 is a bit OTT. I have an excuse though, I am a blacksmith. When I gathered mine up yesterday I deliberately didn't gather up the ones with no handles, there is at least a half dozen or so of them.
Most of my hammers were bought in joblots at auctions. Some were on the farm before I was born. One christmas I mentioned that I'd like a hammer for christmas, I got 3 ballpiens that christmas.
Below, I re-arranged them according to their purpose.
On the left are two sledges, the long handled one weighs 10lbs, the other is an 8lb stone mason's hammer. Next are two more stone mason's hammers, used to finish the face of a stone. Then there are six blacksmithing hammers of various weights, the sixth one is used for swaging. Next are a few carpenter's hammers with a claw for pulling out nails. Beside them is what I think is a cobbler's hammer. that came in box of tools at an auction. Next up we have 2 lump hammers, made in China, they are slightly softer and can be used for forging, especially to hit tool steel without damaging the tool steel. Generally one of these lives in each tractor on the farm. Finally at the extreme right is the wooden mallet, sometimes used to hit chisels for woodwork, or can be used in the forge to straighten a twist without marking it. My next hammer purchase will be a rawhide hammer, also used for forging, light taps on something that is almost finished. Perhaps I'll mention it at christmas and get 3!
I used to work in Co Clare in a lab. Part of the job was taking samples from sites around the county. We drove past a small workshop and the guy driving said 'That man has forty hammers'.
A couple of weeks ago I bought a ballpien hammer from a travelling salesman. I didn't really need another hammer, but I bought it anyway to hansel the man, it was a wet day and he'd been travelling over a hundred miles and I was his first customer. I sometimes think I bring good luck to these people, if they make a sale to me early in the day then the rest of the day will be good for them.
Anyway I started thinking how many hammers have I? So yesterday I gathered them all up and laid them out on a pallet. I found 18 including a mallet, there was one in the car and another in the jeep, actually the one in the jeep is a fencing pliers, but it can be used to hammer in a staple. So I'm half way there, to the man with 40 hammers that is, if you will allow me to count the fencing pliers as a hammer.
What's the big deal with hammers you may ask? Well to put it simply the hammer is the mother of all tools. When our ancestors picked up a rock to bash a nut open that was the first rudimentary tool. To make a better tool they shaped flints with another stone and so on until we started to melt ores and cast them. Today hammers are still used by a few of us on a daily basis. Most of the farmers I know have at least one hammer, some have two or three, but 20 is a bit OTT. I have an excuse though, I am a blacksmith. When I gathered mine up yesterday I deliberately didn't gather up the ones with no handles, there is at least a half dozen or so of them.
Most of my hammers were bought in joblots at auctions. Some were on the farm before I was born. One christmas I mentioned that I'd like a hammer for christmas, I got 3 ballpiens that christmas.
Below, I re-arranged them according to their purpose.
On the left are two sledges, the long handled one weighs 10lbs, the other is an 8lb stone mason's hammer. Next are two more stone mason's hammers, used to finish the face of a stone. Then there are six blacksmithing hammers of various weights, the sixth one is used for swaging. Next are a few carpenter's hammers with a claw for pulling out nails. Beside them is what I think is a cobbler's hammer. that came in box of tools at an auction. Next up we have 2 lump hammers, made in China, they are slightly softer and can be used for forging, especially to hit tool steel without damaging the tool steel. Generally one of these lives in each tractor on the farm. Finally at the extreme right is the wooden mallet, sometimes used to hit chisels for woodwork, or can be used in the forge to straighten a twist without marking it. My next hammer purchase will be a rawhide hammer, also used for forging, light taps on something that is almost finished. Perhaps I'll mention it at christmas and get 3!
Sunday, July 2, 2017
I'm tired but I can't sleep. I'm not in bed but it's almost 1am, I'm watching a tv programme about Phil Collins. I like his music, one of his songs is my favourite song, 'in the air tonight' if I'm ever in a coma and you want me to come out of it this song would most likely do it.
Anyway on nights when I can't sleep I recite this stuff to myself, starting with my feet. It also works as a relaxation technique, here goes;
My toes feel heavy and relaxed
My toes feel heavy and relaxed
My toes feel heavy and relaxed
My feet feel heavy and relaxed
My feet feel heavy and relaxed
My feet feel heavy and relaxed
My ankles feel heavy and relaxed
My ankles feel heavy and relaxed
My ankles feel heavy and relaxed.
My toes, my feet and my ankles are all heavy and relaxed
My toes, my feet and my ankles are all heavy and relaxed
My toes, my feet and my ankles are all heavy and relaxed.
My calves feel heavy and relaxed
and I think about the only time I ever saw you in a dress
My calves feel heavy and relaxed
a black dress the day we had an interview with E6
My calves feel heavy and relaxed
and you got the job.
My knees feel heavy and relaxed
My knees feel heavy and relaxed
My knees feel heavy and relaxed
My thighs feel heavy and relaxed
I think about you having a coffee
My thighs feel heavy and relaxed
sitting with your legs crossed
My thighs feel heavy and relaxed
one hand tucked between your thighs
My calves, my knees and my thighs are all heavy and relaxed
My calves, my knees and my thighs are all heavy and relaxed
My calves, my knees and my thighs are all heavy and relaxed.
Think of a smile of warmth, compassion and love
you smiling in a park, with sun behind you
Think of a smile of warmth, compassion and love
the sunlight streaming through your hair
Think of a smile of warmth, compassion and love.
My hips feel heavy and relaxed
I think about your hips
My hips feel heavy and relaxed
clad in Levis at eye level
My hips feel heavy and relaxed.
walking away from me after we had a row
My lower back feels heavy and relaxed
maths class in 2nd year, you sat in front of me
My lower back feels heavy and relaxed
I could see your green panties
My lower back feels heavy and relaxed.
embarrassed you pulled your shirt lower.
My spine feels heavy and relaxed
My spine feels heavy and relaxed
the flat gold chain at the top of your spine
My spine feels heavy and relaxed.
My hips, my lower back and my spine are all heavy and relaxed
My hips, my lower back and my spine are all heavy and relaxed
My hips, my lower back and my spine are all heavy and relaxed.
My stomach feels heavy and relaxed
At holloween you invited me to your room
My stomach feels heavy and relaxed
you took off your jumper
My stomach feels heavy and relaxed
and inadvertently revealed your navel
My chest feels heavy and relaxed
we never actually chose a star
My chest feels heavy and relaxed
but now whenever I see Orion's belt
My chest feels heavy and relaxed
Or Mars I think of you too
My shoulders feel heavy and relaxed
How tanned they were
My shoulders feel heavy and relaxed
'03 was a good summer
My shoulders feel heavy and relaxed
your fabulous hair cascading over them
My stomach, my chest and my shoulders are all heavy and relaxed
My stomach, my chest and my shoulders are all heavy and relaxed
My stomach, my chest and my shoulders are all heavy and relaxed.
My arms feel heavy and relaxed
My arms feel heavy and relaxed
The first time I saw you
My arms feel heavy and relaxed
You wore an armulet
My elbows feel heavy and relaxed
My elbows feel heavy and relaxed
My elbows feel heavy and relaxed
My wrists feel heavy and relaxed
You sat beside me as I ordered a USB watch on the bay
My wrists feel heavy and relaxed
I asked did you want one too
My wrists feel heavy and relaxed
But you politely declined
Anyway on nights when I can't sleep I recite this stuff to myself, starting with my feet. It also works as a relaxation technique, here goes;
My toes feel heavy and relaxed
My toes feel heavy and relaxed
My toes feel heavy and relaxed
My feet feel heavy and relaxed
My feet feel heavy and relaxed
My feet feel heavy and relaxed
My ankles feel heavy and relaxed
My ankles feel heavy and relaxed
My ankles feel heavy and relaxed.
My toes, my feet and my ankles are all heavy and relaxed
My toes, my feet and my ankles are all heavy and relaxed
My toes, my feet and my ankles are all heavy and relaxed.
My calves feel heavy and relaxed
and I think about the only time I ever saw you in a dress
My calves feel heavy and relaxed
a black dress the day we had an interview with E6
My calves feel heavy and relaxed
and you got the job.
My knees feel heavy and relaxed
My knees feel heavy and relaxed
My knees feel heavy and relaxed
My thighs feel heavy and relaxed
I think about you having a coffee
My thighs feel heavy and relaxed
sitting with your legs crossed
My thighs feel heavy and relaxed
one hand tucked between your thighs
My calves, my knees and my thighs are all heavy and relaxed
My calves, my knees and my thighs are all heavy and relaxed
My calves, my knees and my thighs are all heavy and relaxed.
Think of a smile of warmth, compassion and love
you smiling in a park, with sun behind you
Think of a smile of warmth, compassion and love
the sunlight streaming through your hair
Think of a smile of warmth, compassion and love.
My hips feel heavy and relaxed
I think about your hips
My hips feel heavy and relaxed
clad in Levis at eye level
My hips feel heavy and relaxed.
walking away from me after we had a row
My lower back feels heavy and relaxed
maths class in 2nd year, you sat in front of me
My lower back feels heavy and relaxed
I could see your green panties
My lower back feels heavy and relaxed.
embarrassed you pulled your shirt lower.
My spine feels heavy and relaxed
My spine feels heavy and relaxed
the flat gold chain at the top of your spine
My spine feels heavy and relaxed.
My hips, my lower back and my spine are all heavy and relaxed
My hips, my lower back and my spine are all heavy and relaxed
My hips, my lower back and my spine are all heavy and relaxed.
My stomach feels heavy and relaxed
At holloween you invited me to your room
My stomach feels heavy and relaxed
you took off your jumper
My stomach feels heavy and relaxed
and inadvertently revealed your navel
My chest feels heavy and relaxed
we never actually chose a star
My chest feels heavy and relaxed
but now whenever I see Orion's belt
My chest feels heavy and relaxed
Or Mars I think of you too
My shoulders feel heavy and relaxed
How tanned they were
My shoulders feel heavy and relaxed
'03 was a good summer
My shoulders feel heavy and relaxed
your fabulous hair cascading over them
My stomach, my chest and my shoulders are all heavy and relaxed
My stomach, my chest and my shoulders are all heavy and relaxed
My stomach, my chest and my shoulders are all heavy and relaxed.
My arms feel heavy and relaxed
My arms feel heavy and relaxed
The first time I saw you
My arms feel heavy and relaxed
You wore an armulet
My elbows feel heavy and relaxed
My elbows feel heavy and relaxed
My elbows feel heavy and relaxed
My wrists feel heavy and relaxed
You sat beside me as I ordered a USB watch on the bay
My wrists feel heavy and relaxed
I asked did you want one too
My wrists feel heavy and relaxed
But you politely declined
My arms, my elbows, and my wrists are all heavy and relaxed.
My arms, my elbows, and my wrists are all heavy and relaxed.
My arms, my elbows, and my wrists are all heavy and relaxed.
My hands feel heavy and relaxed
My hands feel heavy and relaxed
My hands feel heavy and relaxed
My fingers feel heavy and relaxed
You asked me could I raise my 3rd finger
My fingers feel heavy and relaxed
While still keeping the others flat?
My fingers feel heavy and relaxed
I showed you that I could and you said
some piano players who couldn't
would be very jealous.
My thumbs feel heavy and relaxed
Why is thumbing a lift so bad
My thumbs feel heavy and relaxed
where you come from it has a
My thumbs feel heavy and relaxed
totally different meaning, now I know.
My hands, my fingers and my wrists are all heavy and relaxed
Your long slender skilled fingers would do a surgeon proud
My hands, my fingers and my wrists are all heavy and relaxed
My hands, my fingers and my wrists are all heavy and relaxed.
My neck feels heavy and relaxed
As I get more relaxed I am more
My neck feels heavy and relaxed
conscious of my heart beating
My neck feels heavy and relaxed
My jaw feels heavy and relaxed
we watched a world cup game on tv
My jaw feels heavy and relaxed
Your country won and we drank some carlsberg
My jaw feels heavy and relaxed
My tongue feels heavy and relaxed
you flew home the next day
My tongue feels heavy and relaxed
3 world cups have passed since
My tongue feels heavy and relaxed
My neck, my jaw and my tongue are all heavy and relaxed
My neck, my jaw and my tongue are all heavy and relaxed
My neck, my jaw and my tongue are all heavy and relaxed.
My lips feel heavy and relaxed
My lips feel heavy and relaxed
My lips feel heavy and relaxed
My cheeks feel heavy and relaxed
My cheeks feel heavy and relaxed
My cheeks feel heavy and relaxed
My eyes feel heavy and relaxed
Boris eye lashes I teased
My eyes feel heavy and relaxed
My eyes feel heavy and relaxed
My lips, my cheeks and my eyes are all heavy and relaxed
My lips, my cheeks and my eyes are all heavy and relaxed
My lips, my cheeks and my eyes are all heavy and relaxed.
My forehead feels heavy and relaxed
My forehead feels heavy and relaxed
My forehead feels heavy and relaxed
My temples feel heavy and relaxed
My temples feel heavy and relaxed
My temples feel heavy and relaxed
My ears feel heavy and relaxed
with the Claddagh earrings
My ears feel heavy and relaxed
I wonder what it would take now
My ears feel heavy and relaxed
to make up with you again.
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
After the Poetry?
After the love has gone all that's left is the poetry.
But what is left after the poetry has gone? Is it just the memories? Or the everyday reminders that have become routine? Driving along a certain piece of road perhaps, or something as simple as looking at the horizon out the kitchen window as I press the coffee pot plunger and wonder do you still think about me too.
At least the dreams have stopped. For ages I had a recurring dream of being in a cinema and you would walk past and just ignore me, the same way as you ignored me on the bridge one January afternoon. Sometimes I dreamt that we actually had a conversation, in a lab usually, solving a problem or in a canteen you'd smile sit down beside me and then......
Now all that is left is the memories. I spent years mourning your loss, I wonder was it the same for you too? Perhaps that's why you never replied to the emails I sent you at christmas or on your birthday. I always felt very down after sending one off to cyberspace. I'd frantically check my inbox 8 or 9 times a day for a few days, naively hoping for a reply. But there never was any replies. You blocked me on all social media, can't say I blame you, but I'm glad to see a photo of you wearing the Claddagh earrings a few years after we stopped talking. It gave me HOPE, perhaps there was still a slim chance that maybe some day you would get back to me.
This year I didn't send you any emails wishing you a happy christmas, or all the best in 2017. I can't do it anymore. Instead when I went to feed the cattle on new year's eve I lit a candle for you in the HOPE that maybe soon you'll get back to me.
So I conclude, after the love has gone, the poetry exhausted and as the memories fade, HOPE is still there.
Little update; still dreaming about you, were you thinking about me?
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xjdrlo_bob-dylan-johnny-cash-girl-from-the-north-countrywmv_music
I came across this last year and it reminded me of you, hope someone bought you a good coat for the winter.
But what is left after the poetry has gone? Is it just the memories? Or the everyday reminders that have become routine? Driving along a certain piece of road perhaps, or something as simple as looking at the horizon out the kitchen window as I press the coffee pot plunger and wonder do you still think about me too.
At least the dreams have stopped. For ages I had a recurring dream of being in a cinema and you would walk past and just ignore me, the same way as you ignored me on the bridge one January afternoon. Sometimes I dreamt that we actually had a conversation, in a lab usually, solving a problem or in a canteen you'd smile sit down beside me and then......
Now all that is left is the memories. I spent years mourning your loss, I wonder was it the same for you too? Perhaps that's why you never replied to the emails I sent you at christmas or on your birthday. I always felt very down after sending one off to cyberspace. I'd frantically check my inbox 8 or 9 times a day for a few days, naively hoping for a reply. But there never was any replies. You blocked me on all social media, can't say I blame you, but I'm glad to see a photo of you wearing the Claddagh earrings a few years after we stopped talking. It gave me HOPE, perhaps there was still a slim chance that maybe some day you would get back to me.
This year I didn't send you any emails wishing you a happy christmas, or all the best in 2017. I can't do it anymore. Instead when I went to feed the cattle on new year's eve I lit a candle for you in the HOPE that maybe soon you'll get back to me.
So I conclude, after the love has gone, the poetry exhausted and as the memories fade, HOPE is still there.
Little update; still dreaming about you, were you thinking about me?
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xjdrlo_bob-dylan-johnny-cash-girl-from-the-north-countrywmv_music
I came across this last year and it reminded me of you, hope someone bought you a good coat for the winter.
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Black and White
Yesterday when I got up I had no intention of going to church, it just happened. After I dropped my son to school I had to go to the dentist, I parked in the churchyard because it's free, it's away from the prying eyes of traffic wardens, yes you guessed it the tax disc is still not up to date! I was able to park in shade, as it was a bright sunny morning I wanted to park in shade because my dog was in the jeep.
I walked to the dental practice, I had a 9am appointment, got in fairly quickly as mine was the first job of the day. I had a few fillings to get so decided to do two side beside on the top left, but this isn't about the dentist.
After leaving the dentist I walked back to the church, at the gate I met Bart, a Polish guy who used to work for me, I asked how he was, the family etc. we discussed mortgages still a hot topic in Ireland. Then I asked him was there Mass on or what, he said a member of the Polish community had died, his funeral was on that morning, I'd heard about the crash on the news the previous Friday, the road was closed. It happened on a road I drive on 4 or 5 times a week. It was a motorbike, no one else involved. Bart told me that his friend Lucas hit a badger, came off the bike and broke his neck. His wife of 7 months was about a mile behind him when it happened, it was almost dark and she rode on home, passing him by, never saw him. When she got home there was no sign of him, so she got in the car and drove back to find cop cars, ambulances, fire brigades etc. Lucas was only 33. He had been born behind the iron curtin and died on a road near my local town in a freak accident with a black and white badger. Bart said something like it's destiny, there's nothing you can do, yeah, when your time is up it's up I replied. I said I better go as I wanted to get out of the churchyard before the funeral arrived.
So I went to the jeep and let the dog out for a piss. It was something Bart had said, DESTINY. I decided to go to the funeral. I walked around to the other end of the church and in the main door. I came in at the back of the church and chose an empty pew 4 or 5 rows up, made a half assed attempt at a genuflection, I'm not a catholic, sat down and said a silent prayer.
It was still a few minutes to go, most of the mourners waited outside. The pew I had chosen was opposite a wide side door. Two priests in white stoles went to the door and opened it, letting in a draught and the bright spring sunshine. It was the door that Lucas would enter. When I went into the church there were 2 maybe 3 bikes in the churchyard. As I watched the two priests looking out the door more bikes started to arrive. One of the bikers, wearing a red bandanna asked the priests for permission to park the bikes in two lines either side of the door, the priests nodded. The bikers lined up, I wished I had a camera as the image was beautifully framed in the doorway, I knew I was witnessing something very special, the black leather of the bikers contrasting with the white vestments of the priests, and the black hearse contrasting with the sunshine on a beautiful sunny Spring day. Not a day for a camera I thought, better to cherish the memory instead, and try to describe it in words.
The undertaker awkwardly placed his little fold up trolley in the porch, then a few moments later removed it, it would not be needed. These guys were going to do a proper job for Lucas. The bikes shone in the sunshine as they ticked over. As the coffin bearers shouldered Lucas at the back of the hearse the biker with the red bandanna spun his hand quickly. The roar of the bikes as they saluted a fallen comrade could be heard for miles. What I felt was an unbelievable thrill, I hadn't been on a bike since the year that Lucas was born, but I swear my right hand twisted in the motion to open the throttle fully wide, the words of the song 'We're on the highway to Hell' blazed through my brain as Lucas entered the darkness of the church. During the ceremony which was mostly conducted in Polish I learnt that Lucas was a really talented pastry chef who had recently been promoted to manager where he worked. The biker in the red bandanna spoke at length in Polish, I wished I knew what he said. It was a first for me, to see someone in a red bandanna, dressed in black leather speaking from a pulpit.
I don't know why I went to church yesterday, but today I'm glad I did, maybe it's because I have my own issues with badgers and TB, perhaps someone is trying to tell me that my badger problem isn't anywhere near as bad as the young Polish widow who yesterday buried her husband of 7 months,
Rest in Peace Lucas.
I walked to the dental practice, I had a 9am appointment, got in fairly quickly as mine was the first job of the day. I had a few fillings to get so decided to do two side beside on the top left, but this isn't about the dentist.
After leaving the dentist I walked back to the church, at the gate I met Bart, a Polish guy who used to work for me, I asked how he was, the family etc. we discussed mortgages still a hot topic in Ireland. Then I asked him was there Mass on or what, he said a member of the Polish community had died, his funeral was on that morning, I'd heard about the crash on the news the previous Friday, the road was closed. It happened on a road I drive on 4 or 5 times a week. It was a motorbike, no one else involved. Bart told me that his friend Lucas hit a badger, came off the bike and broke his neck. His wife of 7 months was about a mile behind him when it happened, it was almost dark and she rode on home, passing him by, never saw him. When she got home there was no sign of him, so she got in the car and drove back to find cop cars, ambulances, fire brigades etc. Lucas was only 33. He had been born behind the iron curtin and died on a road near my local town in a freak accident with a black and white badger. Bart said something like it's destiny, there's nothing you can do, yeah, when your time is up it's up I replied. I said I better go as I wanted to get out of the churchyard before the funeral arrived.
So I went to the jeep and let the dog out for a piss. It was something Bart had said, DESTINY. I decided to go to the funeral. I walked around to the other end of the church and in the main door. I came in at the back of the church and chose an empty pew 4 or 5 rows up, made a half assed attempt at a genuflection, I'm not a catholic, sat down and said a silent prayer.
It was still a few minutes to go, most of the mourners waited outside. The pew I had chosen was opposite a wide side door. Two priests in white stoles went to the door and opened it, letting in a draught and the bright spring sunshine. It was the door that Lucas would enter. When I went into the church there were 2 maybe 3 bikes in the churchyard. As I watched the two priests looking out the door more bikes started to arrive. One of the bikers, wearing a red bandanna asked the priests for permission to park the bikes in two lines either side of the door, the priests nodded. The bikers lined up, I wished I had a camera as the image was beautifully framed in the doorway, I knew I was witnessing something very special, the black leather of the bikers contrasting with the white vestments of the priests, and the black hearse contrasting with the sunshine on a beautiful sunny Spring day. Not a day for a camera I thought, better to cherish the memory instead, and try to describe it in words.
The undertaker awkwardly placed his little fold up trolley in the porch, then a few moments later removed it, it would not be needed. These guys were going to do a proper job for Lucas. The bikes shone in the sunshine as they ticked over. As the coffin bearers shouldered Lucas at the back of the hearse the biker with the red bandanna spun his hand quickly. The roar of the bikes as they saluted a fallen comrade could be heard for miles. What I felt was an unbelievable thrill, I hadn't been on a bike since the year that Lucas was born, but I swear my right hand twisted in the motion to open the throttle fully wide, the words of the song 'We're on the highway to Hell' blazed through my brain as Lucas entered the darkness of the church. During the ceremony which was mostly conducted in Polish I learnt that Lucas was a really talented pastry chef who had recently been promoted to manager where he worked. The biker in the red bandanna spoke at length in Polish, I wished I knew what he said. It was a first for me, to see someone in a red bandanna, dressed in black leather speaking from a pulpit.
I don't know why I went to church yesterday, but today I'm glad I did, maybe it's because I have my own issues with badgers and TB, perhaps someone is trying to tell me that my badger problem isn't anywhere near as bad as the young Polish widow who yesterday buried her husband of 7 months,
Rest in Peace Lucas.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
tb on the farm
I've been going through a tough few months on the farm lately. It all started last August when a cow sent for slaughter showed up with TB in a post mortem, then another one in September. So out of 6 cows sent for slaughter, 2 showed up with TB.
We needed to do a full herd test, I wanted to do it before the winter feeding started, but Dept of Ag rules wouldn't allow this until 60 days after the last reactor had been removed from the farm. We did a test in November and 18 cattle showed up with TB. I was a bit surprised, I thought maybe we'd have 5 or 6 reactors. I couldn't understand where it was coming from. We all know that TB can spread from wildlife to cattle, but there are no deer in this area, ok there is some badger activity, but none of the setts were active. I have never bought in female cattle, and the only males I bought in since our last TB episode in 2006 was 2 stock bulls, they passed the test in November.
So 18 cattle were valued by an independent valuer who had been given 'valuation guidelines' by the Dept. I agreed to the valuations and 18 cattle, mostly in calf cows, went for slaughter at a local meat plant. I went to see them being killed, but when I tried to ask questions about whether all the cows were in calf, or if any of them had lesions I was told 'Your local DVO will tell you anything you need to know' then I got told where to stand by an over-bearing Russian bitch. I watched as my next crop of calves disappeared down a chute.
I got a cheque for the cattle about 2 days later, it was about 1/3 the value put on them by the 'independent valuation'. The balance came from the Dept about a month later when all the necessary paperwork, including a tax clearance cert had been forwarded on to the local DVO.
So the wife thinks it's fucking brilliant, we'll have money for christmas, be able to pay a few bills, pay bank arrears etc. But what about next fucking christmas, and the one after that? I ask her......
Needless to say many rows ensued. Later we found out 13 out of the 18 cattle showed up with lesions. This was quite high, so the vet from the Dept. suggested that we really should do a blood test for TB at the next herd test. Ok, I said, in my ignorance, I wanted to get to the bottom of this. The vet went on to explain that the blood test is only about 85% perhaps 92% accurate, it does throw up a few false positives. I agreed to go ahead with the blood test on all animals over 12 months old at the next test.
Roll on February, we had to wait 60 days after the last reactor was removed from the herd. By this time a lot of the cows were heavy in calf. Our own vet did the skin test, and the Dept vet took blood samples from all the cows, stock bulls and heifers over 12 months, 79 I think in total for blood test. I remember it was snowing and our own vet got delayed that morning.
So 3 days later we had the results of the blood test, out of the 79 tested 24 had failed, including one of my stock bulls. I was sort of in a semi-automatic daze as we did the skin test. I remember the Dept. vet asking me 'Do you love this cow'? What he meant was she was borderline on the blood test, and her skin test was clear, she was probably a false positive on the blood test. I was going to say something smart like I love all my cows, but I bit my tongue and bravely/stupidly said something like, let her off (for slaughter). Remember I still wanted to eliminate this disease from my farm as quickly as possible. So the final tally that day, 36 more cattle gone. The worrying part was one weanling bull was gone too, this group of cattle were all clear in the previous test. So a week went by, I sorted out all the reactors from the rest of the herd. The 'independent' valuer came again. By this time cattle prices in the mart had risen considerably since the last test, but the valuations didn't reflect this, we eventually thrashed it out, I agreed to the valuations, yes you guessed it, I wanted to get to the end of this as quickly as possible. 3 weeks after the test 35 out of the 36 reactors went off to the same local meat plant. One cow didn't go because she was calving that morning. She went a week later. Needless to say I didn't go to the meat plant that day to see my future sliding down a chute. However I did go to another meat plant later that week with 3 bulls for slaughter. Strangely enough one of these showed up with lesions, which later showed up as being TB positive after being cultured. Now this bull passed a test in November, passed a test in February and yet still had TB bad enough to show up with lesions. I am not really looking forward to my next TB test in early May.
So calving of my remaining 17 cows continues, slowly. I have bought another Aberdeen angus bull, there is still about 30 heifers that will be fit for service this year, all going well next year might be better. The Dept vet wants to do the ELIZA test at the next herd test, I think I have no option but to do it, after all I want to get to the bottom of this........
We needed to do a full herd test, I wanted to do it before the winter feeding started, but Dept of Ag rules wouldn't allow this until 60 days after the last reactor had been removed from the farm. We did a test in November and 18 cattle showed up with TB. I was a bit surprised, I thought maybe we'd have 5 or 6 reactors. I couldn't understand where it was coming from. We all know that TB can spread from wildlife to cattle, but there are no deer in this area, ok there is some badger activity, but none of the setts were active. I have never bought in female cattle, and the only males I bought in since our last TB episode in 2006 was 2 stock bulls, they passed the test in November.
So 18 cattle were valued by an independent valuer who had been given 'valuation guidelines' by the Dept. I agreed to the valuations and 18 cattle, mostly in calf cows, went for slaughter at a local meat plant. I went to see them being killed, but when I tried to ask questions about whether all the cows were in calf, or if any of them had lesions I was told 'Your local DVO will tell you anything you need to know' then I got told where to stand by an over-bearing Russian bitch. I watched as my next crop of calves disappeared down a chute.
I got a cheque for the cattle about 2 days later, it was about 1/3 the value put on them by the 'independent valuation'. The balance came from the Dept about a month later when all the necessary paperwork, including a tax clearance cert had been forwarded on to the local DVO.
So the wife thinks it's fucking brilliant, we'll have money for christmas, be able to pay a few bills, pay bank arrears etc. But what about next fucking christmas, and the one after that? I ask her......
Needless to say many rows ensued. Later we found out 13 out of the 18 cattle showed up with lesions. This was quite high, so the vet from the Dept. suggested that we really should do a blood test for TB at the next herd test. Ok, I said, in my ignorance, I wanted to get to the bottom of this. The vet went on to explain that the blood test is only about 85% perhaps 92% accurate, it does throw up a few false positives. I agreed to go ahead with the blood test on all animals over 12 months old at the next test.
Roll on February, we had to wait 60 days after the last reactor was removed from the herd. By this time a lot of the cows were heavy in calf. Our own vet did the skin test, and the Dept vet took blood samples from all the cows, stock bulls and heifers over 12 months, 79 I think in total for blood test. I remember it was snowing and our own vet got delayed that morning.
So 3 days later we had the results of the blood test, out of the 79 tested 24 had failed, including one of my stock bulls. I was sort of in a semi-automatic daze as we did the skin test. I remember the Dept. vet asking me 'Do you love this cow'? What he meant was she was borderline on the blood test, and her skin test was clear, she was probably a false positive on the blood test. I was going to say something smart like I love all my cows, but I bit my tongue and bravely/stupidly said something like, let her off (for slaughter). Remember I still wanted to eliminate this disease from my farm as quickly as possible. So the final tally that day, 36 more cattle gone. The worrying part was one weanling bull was gone too, this group of cattle were all clear in the previous test. So a week went by, I sorted out all the reactors from the rest of the herd. The 'independent' valuer came again. By this time cattle prices in the mart had risen considerably since the last test, but the valuations didn't reflect this, we eventually thrashed it out, I agreed to the valuations, yes you guessed it, I wanted to get to the end of this as quickly as possible. 3 weeks after the test 35 out of the 36 reactors went off to the same local meat plant. One cow didn't go because she was calving that morning. She went a week later. Needless to say I didn't go to the meat plant that day to see my future sliding down a chute. However I did go to another meat plant later that week with 3 bulls for slaughter. Strangely enough one of these showed up with lesions, which later showed up as being TB positive after being cultured. Now this bull passed a test in November, passed a test in February and yet still had TB bad enough to show up with lesions. I am not really looking forward to my next TB test in early May.
So calving of my remaining 17 cows continues, slowly. I have bought another Aberdeen angus bull, there is still about 30 heifers that will be fit for service this year, all going well next year might be better. The Dept vet wants to do the ELIZA test at the next herd test, I think I have no option but to do it, after all I want to get to the bottom of this........
Friday, March 21, 2014
thoughts on a trip to the meat factory
Yesterday was thursday, I used to look forward to lunch on thursday. I got up earlier than usual to load 2 bulls in a trailer and take them to the slaughter house. I had no problem sorting them out from their comrades, one of them used to love having the back of his head scratched. I call it the 'toledo' spot. It's where those spannish bull fighting bastards stick in the sword after they've finished torturing the bull to end his life by severing the spinal chord. Toledo is a spannish city and I think they still make swords there for tourists, it's also afaik the spannish word for sword. Any way back to my bulls, got them out of the pen and into the crush. One of them needed an eartag. First blood of the day I thought as the spike on the tag pierced a vein in his ear.
It's about a 45 minute drive to the slaughter house from my yard. I drive at about 45 mph. If I can, I pull into the edge of the road to let cars pass. If the road is too narrow, tough shit. Most of the way I drive in 4th sometimes 5th. I think about ringing the miller where I buy bull ration to ask can I weigh in so I can find out what the kill out % is, but I don't bother, there is no tax on the land cruiser, one of the tyres on the trailer is bald, I don't want to meet any cops so I stick to the ring road avoiding towns. I pull in at a wide part of the road to let a bread van pass, but the prick pulls in behind me and never passes. Fuck him, by the time I get to the slaughter house there is a string of cars behind me.
At the slaughter house there is a que of trailers in front of me, the security man asks me to wait at the barrier until there is room ahead. It's half eight and raining. I sort of listen to the radio and dry my hat with the dashboard heater. Soon the barrier is lifted and I join the que. When I get halfway up I take the bull's passports up to the office and do the paperwork. He asks how heavy they are, 350 maybe 360 kg, I tell the guy there see you in 10 minutes. I help the guy in front of me back in his trailer, he says he's a bad driver. Easily half the farmers there have a land cruiser and ifor williams trailer and have of those have a dog in the passenger seat. He tells me how he backed in the wrong jeep and trailer and loaded it with cattle he'd just bought at a mart one day, I asked was it dark and he said 'No'.
I back up my trailer at the lairage, the guy behind me backs up beside me and is able to get his cattle off first, but I don't care, nobody panics at a slaughter house, just the cattle. My bulls walk off to their deaths easily enough. I go wash out my trailer, the guy who skipped ahead of me has an attractive red headed daughter in the front passenger seat instead of a dog. She is in her early 20's hair tied back in a ponytail. She doesn't talk much, me and her old man talk farming for a few minutes, they have suckler cows same as me, pissed off with the price of cattle, got 4.60 a kg last year, 3.60 a kg this year, that's roughly €400 euro less a head.
It's my turn with the power hose. I put on my raybans to keep the bullshit out of my eyes as I powerhose it out the back of the trailer. My foot gets wet because there is a hole in my welly, fuck that's nice, but they'll have to wait, my son needs a new pair of shoes.
I park the land cruiser and trailer beside a 40 foot fridge trailer, lock it and head back to the lairage, the manager says my bulls are gone up the line. I feel a bit sad, time was I used to give the lairage guys a hand to run my cattle up the chute. Back then perhaps 20 years ago I'd say a prayer, something like thank you, hope these provide a decent dinner for lots of people. Or tell Queen maeve I was asking for her, with a tear in my eye. But not anymore, not when I'm feeling screwed by all the meat factories.
I wash my wellys and head round to the payment office 'joke' and get a banin coat and a head protector. Head up the steps to the slaughter hall. I wash and dry my hands, there's an automatic scrubbing machine with two rotating brushes for my wellys, I think as they come out as new (except for the leak) that's one of the best things about seeing your cattle being killed. I push through the stainless steel doors, what you see first is sides of beef moving slowly to the left to the cold room, there is a wall to the right and straight ahead is maybe 30 cattle hanging from the ceiling in various stages of processing. There is a smell of hot guts but I don't notice it anymore. My cousin who is also a farmer says he hates that smell. But to me it's one of my favourite smells, it's the smell of money, the smell of a clear overdraft, the smell that pays the bills, puts food on the table, new shoes on my son's feet. I love that smell, when the weather is hot the smell is stronger, maybe because it's cold I don't notice the smell or more likely it's because the price of beef is so bad I don't notice it.
I walk past the scales and at the automatic grader I have to stop because it takes a photo of every second side and I don't want to walk past, the lights go off for a second before the photo is taken. There is a low wall running down the middle of the slaughter house. The line is 'U' shaped. The cattle come in at the top of one side of the U just after slaughter, and at the top of the other side of the U is where the door is and where they turn left to the cold room. The low wall where I lean on and watch the whole process runs up the middle of the U. My bulls are hanging up, bleeding, I can't really see them. At 10 am everything stops for breakfast, they've been working since 7am. I go with them to the canteen, tea and coffee is free but food has to be paid for. I remember the irony of having a free roast beef dinner in a slaughter house canteen the very first time I went to see a bullock being killed.
There about 4 long white tables in the canteen with room for perhaps 20 at each table, I just get a mug of tea, fishing out the teabag with my fingers. I sit at the first table beside a man with a tattoo sleeve, I say hello but he doesn't talk much, I suspect he doesn't speak english. A big brazilian guy and a paki sit down and we chat a bit, where are you from, Sao Paulo. He offers me a date from the paki's lunch box, and I take it. After about 15 minutes everybody heads back to the slaughter hall. Slowly one of my bulls moves along the line, the brazilian who I had breakfast with 5 minutes before chops the front legs and makes a few cuts at the throat of my bull. I wonder does he enjoy his job, he is standing in 2 inches of blood with a blank expression on his face, I don't think so. He has been here 11 years, he probably has most of the price of a farm or a decent house in brazil saved by now. My second bull appears, there are 8 other cattle on the line between them. It is hard to keep track of them, when the hide comes off the first one there is a small red patch where the fat has been pulled off, it helps me identify him. I chat to a vet, who says he is the hardest working man on the floor, yeah says I and the best paid. I feel I am the worst paid in there. My bull's guts empty out on to a low sized stainless steel table with a conveyor belt top. I ask if there is any fluke in the liver, the vet makes a few quick cuts and pronounces it 'perfect'. My second bull is being skint and I ask him to look at that one as well. My first bull gets a label with a carcase number, 7770 and his ear tag number on it too, it's easier now for me to keep track of him. He moves around the bottom corner of the U and is sawn in half down through the spine, next an eastern european woman removes bits of nerve. It must be a tough place for a woman to work, especially when she's on the rag looking at blood all day. The second bull has his liver out on the table, 'Fit for the pan' says the vet. I walk up to the grader and watch how cattle are grading and weighing as I wait for my 2 bulls. U and R mostly 2 and 3 for fat cover. My first bull is a U-2+ and weighs 360 kg, I'm happy at that, no deductions for being overweight or short of fat, the next bull moves slowly on, R+2+ and 380kg, I'm pleasantly surprised at the weights, I'm doing mental maths multiplying 38 by 3 and a half. 2.6 or 2.7k it's ok, will keep the wolf from the door for a month.
Yesterday was thursday, I used to look forward to lunch on thursday. I got up earlier than usual to load 2 bulls in a trailer and take them to the slaughter house. I had no problem sorting them out from their comrades, one of them used to love having the back of his head scratched. I call it the 'toledo' spot. It's where those spannish bull fighting bastards stick in the sword after they've finished torturing the bull to end his life by severing the spinal chord. Toledo is a spannish city and I think they still make swords there for tourists, it's also afaik the spannish word for sword. Any way back to my bulls, got them out of the pen and into the crush. One of them needed an eartag. First blood of the day I thought as the spike on the tag pierced a vein in his ear.
It's about a 45 minute drive to the slaughter house from my yard. I drive at about 45 mph. If I can, I pull into the edge of the road to let cars pass. If the road is too narrow, tough shit. Most of the way I drive in 4th sometimes 5th. I think about ringing the miller where I buy bull ration to ask can I weigh in so I can find out what the kill out % is, but I don't bother, there is no tax on the land cruiser, one of the tyres on the trailer is bald, I don't want to meet any cops so I stick to the ring road avoiding towns. I pull in at a wide part of the road to let a bread van pass, but the prick pulls in behind me and never passes. Fuck him, by the time I get to the slaughter house there is a string of cars behind me.
At the slaughter house there is a que of trailers in front of me, the security man asks me to wait at the barrier until there is room ahead. It's half eight and raining. I sort of listen to the radio and dry my hat with the dashboard heater. Soon the barrier is lifted and I join the que. When I get halfway up I take the bull's passports up to the office and do the paperwork. He asks how heavy they are, 350 maybe 360 kg, I tell the guy there see you in 10 minutes. I help the guy in front of me back in his trailer, he says he's a bad driver. Easily half the farmers there have a land cruiser and ifor williams trailer and have of those have a dog in the passenger seat. He tells me how he backed in the wrong jeep and trailer and loaded it with cattle he'd just bought at a mart one day, I asked was it dark and he said 'No'.
I back up my trailer at the lairage, the guy behind me backs up beside me and is able to get his cattle off first, but I don't care, nobody panics at a slaughter house, just the cattle. My bulls walk off to their deaths easily enough. I go wash out my trailer, the guy who skipped ahead of me has an attractive red headed daughter in the front passenger seat instead of a dog. She is in her early 20's hair tied back in a ponytail. She doesn't talk much, me and her old man talk farming for a few minutes, they have suckler cows same as me, pissed off with the price of cattle, got 4.60 a kg last year, 3.60 a kg this year, that's roughly €400 euro less a head.
It's my turn with the power hose. I put on my raybans to keep the bullshit out of my eyes as I powerhose it out the back of the trailer. My foot gets wet because there is a hole in my welly, fuck that's nice, but they'll have to wait, my son needs a new pair of shoes.
I park the land cruiser and trailer beside a 40 foot fridge trailer, lock it and head back to the lairage, the manager says my bulls are gone up the line. I feel a bit sad, time was I used to give the lairage guys a hand to run my cattle up the chute. Back then perhaps 20 years ago I'd say a prayer, something like thank you, hope these provide a decent dinner for lots of people. Or tell Queen maeve I was asking for her, with a tear in my eye. But not anymore, not when I'm feeling screwed by all the meat factories.
I wash my wellys and head round to the payment office 'joke' and get a banin coat and a head protector. Head up the steps to the slaughter hall. I wash and dry my hands, there's an automatic scrubbing machine with two rotating brushes for my wellys, I think as they come out as new (except for the leak) that's one of the best things about seeing your cattle being killed. I push through the stainless steel doors, what you see first is sides of beef moving slowly to the left to the cold room, there is a wall to the right and straight ahead is maybe 30 cattle hanging from the ceiling in various stages of processing. There is a smell of hot guts but I don't notice it anymore. My cousin who is also a farmer says he hates that smell. But to me it's one of my favourite smells, it's the smell of money, the smell of a clear overdraft, the smell that pays the bills, puts food on the table, new shoes on my son's feet. I love that smell, when the weather is hot the smell is stronger, maybe because it's cold I don't notice the smell or more likely it's because the price of beef is so bad I don't notice it.
I walk past the scales and at the automatic grader I have to stop because it takes a photo of every second side and I don't want to walk past, the lights go off for a second before the photo is taken. There is a low wall running down the middle of the slaughter house. The line is 'U' shaped. The cattle come in at the top of one side of the U just after slaughter, and at the top of the other side of the U is where the door is and where they turn left to the cold room. The low wall where I lean on and watch the whole process runs up the middle of the U. My bulls are hanging up, bleeding, I can't really see them. At 10 am everything stops for breakfast, they've been working since 7am. I go with them to the canteen, tea and coffee is free but food has to be paid for. I remember the irony of having a free roast beef dinner in a slaughter house canteen the very first time I went to see a bullock being killed.
There about 4 long white tables in the canteen with room for perhaps 20 at each table, I just get a mug of tea, fishing out the teabag with my fingers. I sit at the first table beside a man with a tattoo sleeve, I say hello but he doesn't talk much, I suspect he doesn't speak english. A big brazilian guy and a paki sit down and we chat a bit, where are you from, Sao Paulo. He offers me a date from the paki's lunch box, and I take it. After about 15 minutes everybody heads back to the slaughter hall. Slowly one of my bulls moves along the line, the brazilian who I had breakfast with 5 minutes before chops the front legs and makes a few cuts at the throat of my bull. I wonder does he enjoy his job, he is standing in 2 inches of blood with a blank expression on his face, I don't think so. He has been here 11 years, he probably has most of the price of a farm or a decent house in brazil saved by now. My second bull appears, there are 8 other cattle on the line between them. It is hard to keep track of them, when the hide comes off the first one there is a small red patch where the fat has been pulled off, it helps me identify him. I chat to a vet, who says he is the hardest working man on the floor, yeah says I and the best paid. I feel I am the worst paid in there. My bull's guts empty out on to a low sized stainless steel table with a conveyor belt top. I ask if there is any fluke in the liver, the vet makes a few quick cuts and pronounces it 'perfect'. My second bull is being skint and I ask him to look at that one as well. My first bull gets a label with a carcase number, 7770 and his ear tag number on it too, it's easier now for me to keep track of him. He moves around the bottom corner of the U and is sawn in half down through the spine, next an eastern european woman removes bits of nerve. It must be a tough place for a woman to work, especially when she's on the rag looking at blood all day. The second bull has his liver out on the table, 'Fit for the pan' says the vet. I walk up to the grader and watch how cattle are grading and weighing as I wait for my 2 bulls. U and R mostly 2 and 3 for fat cover. My first bull is a U-2+ and weighs 360 kg, I'm happy at that, no deductions for being overweight or short of fat, the next bull moves slowly on, R+2+ and 380kg, I'm pleasantly surprised at the weights, I'm doing mental maths multiplying 38 by 3 and a half. 2.6 or 2.7k it's ok, will keep the wolf from the door for a month.
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