Horse and cart romantic? Think again.

The neverending battle of the dialects continued today with the enemy lines drawer a little closer upon every addition from the lifesaving Romanian-English dictionary H has. After much confusion, we managed to organise that we would go to the shops, take a gypsy for translation purposes (couldn't use google translate cos they can't spell properly), shop for the shepherd boys (they live in a shed out on the paddock 24/7) and then go help them with the hay.

Seriously, this was a real mission. When we'd finally figured out we needed to go shop for the boys, they sent one of them back to make a list, he arrives and they tell me he's made a hole in his "pantaloons" (hehe). In the crotch. Not really sure what they wanted me to do about it, I found a pair of H's trousers and they said they couldn't use them, and so I found the sewing kit. Told them I wasn't a seamstress so gave it to the boy and walked inside. Came out to find the boy trying to pierce his ear with a needle. Seriously. They're like children these people.

We put the plans of Coffee's debut ride on hold for the moment, headed to the shops in the dead heat of the day, fussed around as we do with gypsies and made it back alive. Good Old Red. Then it was time to help with the hay, although it turns out we didn't help with the hay. Every five minutes the plans changed so we just rolled with it. Insisted on taking a couple of the cart horses back because they were cut up with cart-related sores, and got replacement horses (surprisingly easy to catch), another lame one with a swollen hoof three times the size it should be and another young'un to train up as a pack horse.

The cart ride back was another slice of hell, falling this way n that as the horses bumped along the muddy and/or uneven grass roads while the gypsy in charge sipped his hideously flat beer. Drunk cart driving. Just great. L and I just grimaced at each other as every second took us further and further from potential birthing abilities, and I realised after a while I wasn't sitting on the plank of wood underneath me, but in fact some of the leftover horse manure at the bottom of the cart. Everyone thought that was well entertaining when I got back.

Neutered, stained with poo and bruises swelling up in all sorts of places. Get in line, boys.