For starters, we have some serious fat butts. Those seem to be very popular on shows like "The Biggest Loser." Ours belong, of course, mostly to sheep, who should have lambed by now but haven't.
Here, for example, is Quetzal.
(Don't ask why we have a sheep named Quetzal. I don't pick the sheep names. As a man, and a husband, I'm officially not creative enough to do that. I would have gone with Daisy or Blossom.)
But you do get my main point. That's a serious derrière thère. If you'll pardon my français.
And she's not the only one. Here's her cousin Quinny, just as massif. The two round basketball-sized protrusions on either side are, of course, lambs, who seem to like it in there where it's nice and warm and food comes through a tube reliably.
(By the way, why do we use French for talking about overlarge body parts and expensive clothing and other things about which we want to be coy or are shy about? Is it because of French fashion, or because the French aren't supposed to get fat. It's like the words mutton, beef, and pork, all French, when what we mean in plain English is sheep, cow, and pig. But we don't say, I had a nice pig chop for dinner the other night, even if I did, even if I know it was a pig because I grew it myself. It's very silly, if you ask moi. Another sad consequence of the bloody old Norman Conquest, right up there in historical importance with the Harrying of the North, or the English feudal system.)
We also have large piles of trash, which seems to be another prerequisite for getting a reality show, as, for instance, on Hoarders. Ours, of course, were meant to be thrifty -- saving up stuff that could be useful later. But of course, it wasn't, so all we got was a farmyard cluttered up with piles of lumber and fencing and equipment and wotnot.
I could have, should have, would have burned all this waste lumber, the sorry and penultimate end of a bunch of gates, fence rails, chicken coops, sheep shacks, and so on, had I the time and inclination and energy that I thought I would have. That would have saved me the several trips to the Pine Tree Landfill that it will take to get rid of all this. But each time I began, I'd end up wearing out a chainsaw blade on a nail -- which only takes a second, by the way -- or running out of places to put the resultant kindling.
Or, least anticipated, but most true, not actually needing that much kindling in the first place. Turns out, you see, that kindling is, well, kindling, and burns up too fast and hot and so you only need a little. What is more useful for staying warm is logs, Mick.
Real tree logs.
Duh. Go figure.
So, looking on the bright side, we also have lots of stupid decisions that should help write the show.
What else do we have that should get us on reality TV? Drama? Only if you like things like Animal Planet. There's definitely a lot of inter-animal drama around here, dog vs. cat, cat vs. mouse and vole, sheep vs. dog, man vs. rat, skunk, and porcupine, and on and on. Law-breaking? Aimee did get a speeding ticket last year, a personal failure she probably still hasn't forgiven herself for. Right, of course, that's another reality TV stand-by, obsessive compulsivity, such as Aimee's inability to forgive herself for the slightest mistakes. Sub-plots? Endless, but all of the personal, overly quirky kind, that no-one else would get without a major investment in explanatory voice-overs and sub-titles. Aimee for instance has an ongoing sub-plot in genetics. You just have to read her Facebook page to she that she's obsessed with the subject, to the point where she keeps notes on our sheep's various bloodlines. I have a biology degree and most of it is Greek to me. As for me, well, there's the Churchill subplot, which is just really part of the Anglo-American history subplot, which I believe explains an enormous part of why things are the way they are, which ....
I think you get the idea.
Thankfully, no-one in their right mind is going to give us a reality show. For which we should actually be thankful. The other weekend we had three sets of visitors in one Saturday and the excitement almost killed us. We both took extra naps Sunday.
Now, what I would like to see visit is not a TV crew, or indeed any other kind of human being.
I'd like to see those lambs, please. I have to go back to work Monday.
If lambs don't come on time around there, it tends to come out of my sleep. And I'm obviously not getting enough of that, since it's 3.36 am and here I am prattling around on this blog.