A bit of a moan (and a cortado)

When things are going wrong it’s hard to see any sort of light at the end of the tunnel — and if there is a light, it usually feels less like hope and more like an oncoming train picking up speed.

Over the winter I decided I wasn’t going to be that person glued to the couch every evening, working my way through endless box sets and “just one more episode” that somehow turns into five… and a family-sized packet of something I wasn’t planning on opening.

You know the routine — a bit of sugar, a bit of comfort, and then the inevitable crash, followed by another trip to the snack cupboard like it’s got shares in your wellbeing.

So I changed things. Properly.

Up early, no phone before 7am, gym at 6am — the full transformation. I was basically one cold shower away from becoming unbearable to be around. I felt great though — like one of those people who says things like “you’ve got the same 24 hours as everyone else” and actually means it.

It gave me a new lease of life and a mindset that made me feel like I could take on whatever the day threw at me.

“Well… that was then.”

Because now? Lambing season has arrived like a wrecking ball — and I’m fairly sure it didn’t come alone, it’s brought stress, exhaustion, and a complete disregard for any sort of routine along with it.

That routine, the healthy eating, the positive mindset — all neatly packed up and launched into orbit. If anyone spots it drifting past the moon, just give it a nudge back this direction.

With livestock, you know there are always ups and downs. Last year was definitely an “up.” This year… well, let’s just say we’ve found the slippery slope and we’re not just on it — we’ve committed to the descent.

We’ve lost more ewes than I ever thought possible. Lack of condition, trying to carry lambs, harsh weather through March — it’s all added up. By the last few weeks of pregnancy, some just had nothing left to give. You can plan, prepare, do everything “right”… and still end up thinking, “well that didn’t go to plan at all.”

Nature has a funny way of reminding you who’s actually in charge — and it’s definitely not the person holding the feed bucket.

I’d always say I’m a glass half full person — but right now it feels like someone’s taken the glass, dropped it, and I’m left sweeping it up thinking, “I probably should’ve caught that.”

That’s the bit I struggle with most.

When things go wrong, I don’t just see it as bad luck or a tough season — I take it personally.

“I should have seen it coming.”

“I should have done more.”

It’s a great system — if your goal is to absolutely exhaust yourself while achieving very little else.

The reality is, though, farming isn’t a controlled environment — it’s more like trying to manage chaos with a clipboard and a bit of hope… while everything actively ignores your plan.

Some years everything lines up, and you start thinking you’ve got it cracked. Other years quickly remind you that you absolutely do not.

And right now, that’s where I am.

Somewhere between “this is tough” and “just keep going”… with the occasional “what on earth am I doing?” thrown in for good measure.

I know we’ll come out the other side of it — probably stronger for it too — but we’re funny creatures. A bit like that couch and the box set, there’s a strange part of us that almost enjoys feeling sorry for ourselves. Not in a productive way — more in a “sit in it for a minute and have a good moan” kind of way.

It doesn’t fix anything, but somehow it feels like part of the process.

They always say in the livestock world that you should share your problems — and to be fair, there’s truth in that. Saying it out loud does lighten the load a bit. More often than not, you’ll hear someone else’s story and think, “right… so it’s not just me then,” which is comforting in a slightly worrying way.

But even then, I sometimes wonder how much of it is the full truth.

As farmers and crofters, I think we’re all a bit guilty of only telling half the story — because saying the whole thing out loud feels like admitting we’ve got it wrong. Like it somehow proves we’re not cut out for it.

So we edit it. Tidy it up. Make it sound like we were nearly there… just a bit unlucky.

When in reality, some seasons just come along and humble you completely — no matter how good you are.

And maybe that’s the truth of it.

This job was never about getting it right all the time.

Sometimes it’s just about getting through it…

…with most of your sanity still intact, and ideally without developing a lifelong grudge against sheep.

I’ve just read this back to myself and thought,

“You can’t post that… you sound like a moaning prick.”

Well — hands up — that’s me.

Not every day, not all the time, but right now? A fair bit.

I’ve been told that a great therapy is to write things down — journaling, getting it out of your head and onto paper. I’ve never been one for that sort of thing. Always thought it sounded a bit… not for me.

But I suppose this is it. This is my version of a journal.

No fancy notebook, no deep quotes, no peaceful setting — just me, probably half tired, slightly fed up, and putting it down as it comes. If nothing else, it’s cheaper than therapy and doesn’t require an appointment.

And to be fair… even writing it, I do feel a bit better.

It’s like taking all the nonsense that’s been bouncing around your head, giving it somewhere to go, and realising it maybe doesn’t carry quite as much weight once it’s out in the open.

In essence, this is probably my way of dealing with it — taking the negative thoughts, dragging them out into the light, and telling them (politely… or not so politely) to piss off.

Because left in your head, they grow arms and legs.

Written down, they just look like what they are — a rough patch, a tough season, and a tired mind trying to make sense of it all.

So maybe that’s the answer, or at least part of it.

Not fixing everything. Not pretending it’s all fine.

Just getting it out, having a bit of a moan, calling it what it is… and then getting on with it.

Because at the end of the day, the sheep still need looking after, the work still needs done, and life doesn’t pause while you figure it all out.

And if nothing else, at least I now know —

when things go wrong, I can either bottle it up…

or write it down and realise I’m not completely losing the plot.

Just… operating at a slightly reduced level of sanity.

Oh you dancer — the ever-observant Maggie has spotted the situation unfolding and arrived with a cortado and latte chaser, like some sort of caffeinated guardian angel.

Funny how quickly things turn around.

Five minutes ago I was questioning life choices… now I’m thinking,

“aye, this isn’t so bad actually.”

Life’s not perfect — but it’s amazing what a strong coffee and someone paying attention can fix.

Right… crisis over.

Until the next ewe decides otherwise.