Wicked Wednesday youtube.com/shorts/aZZEJ...

Day 260 of Summer Meadow The willow I planted last November has surrendered dramatically to the long, hot summer think Shakespearean death scene but quieter. Silver lining? A friendly horse’s bumper willow crop means we’ll be harvesting today. Honestly, survival of the bendiest.

Day 256 of Summer Meadow Update: Today I’m taking a train. Trains are gloriously middle-class—above the bus (poor people’s chariot), beneath the car (rich people’s throne). So here I sit, suspended in class purgatory, sipping tea, wondering if the driver wears tweed.

@reformexposed.bsky.social We have lost The press is behind Nigel Farage

Day 255 of Summer Meadow Forecast: Sunshine Sunday with scattered showers, like the universe can’t quite commit to a mood. Somewhere between “beach day” and “bring a towel.” With a hint of rosemary, because apparently even the weather’s gone artis-anal.

A brush Pony fed the pony walk the dogs Pet the sheep said hi to the chickens now it’s cup of tea time

Day 253 of Summer Meadow The rain finally stopped, as if the universe hit pause to let us breathe. Ten minutes of silence, a fragile truce between sky and soil. Then predictably the clouds regrouped, rolled their eyes, and dumped yet another aquatic sequel.

Day 252 of Summer Meadow Today the meadow is running perfectly without me. The chickens are gossiping, the sheep are deep in grass philosophy, and the ponies are almost smug. So I’m taking a radical decision: a pamper day. Self-care is, after all, future-farming. youtube.com/shorts/KADn9...

The summer dead, a bloated thing, lies moldering in the tall grass. A chill wind whispers through the corn stalks. Something foul and ancient stirs in the September darkness. Best lock your doors. #SeptemberVibes #AutumnAwaits

Day 250 at Summer Meadow Big update day the caravan has landed, shiny and smug on its wheels. Think of it as a spaceship with teacups, a command centre disguised as cosy. From the outside, it whispers adventure. From the inside, it promises naps.

Day 249 at Summer Meadow Autumn has arrived, crisp and certain, like a page turning. The meadow hums with the smell of apples, earth, and wool. Harvest calls sheep nod wisely, ponies stomp approval, hens plot feasts. Even Ted senses the shift, pacing like a black sentinel of change.

Shocking: Hyundai’s new Georgia plant just faced an ICE raid. Entire Korean setup crew arrested, facing deportation. The $50B investment once headed to the U.S. may now shift to the EU. Big money, bigger fallout watch this space.

Bless all the people who ripped RFK Jr. a new asshole today.

If you turn down the volume, RFK Jr looks like a guy testifying about why the tanning bed industry needs a bailout.

Play time

@annmb48.bsky.social What do you think of before and then after?

Day 246 of summer meadow Morning everyone

Nite night

Day 245 at Summer Meadow Wednesday wisdom whispers: stop, breathe, and take five. The world is loud, but tea is louder in its own quiet way. Pour a cup of dream tea, let it cool, and watch the meadow tilt toward wonder.

It was September 3rd and the seafront had decided to put on its most dramatic show: kitesurfers slicing through the air like ghosts possessed by caffeine. I sat watching, thinking the obvious thought that arrives in moments of great beauty—I could do with a cup of tea.

@georgiscorner.bsky.social Day 245 at Summer Meadow Summer, summer, summer yet the sea laughed at the word. My first attempt at kite surfing felt like wrestling a furious ghost. The wind was erratic, cruel, slapping me down with icy hands. The waves rose like judges, cold and merciless.

Day 245 at Summer Meadow Today the grumpy man decides water is his enemy and yet, he’ll try to ride it. Kite surfing, they say. Balance, wind, surrender. He mutters like a prophet of doom. Ted just shakes his head; Sid looks ready to film the disaster.

Day 245 of Summer Meadow, Wednesday wisdom: never trust a wheelbarrow it knows gravity’s secrets. Chickens out-think philosophers, tea fuels the cosmos, ponies clock time in carrots, and sheep? Always lost, but with style.

Morning

Time for a cup of tea youtube.com/shorts/UJ-mC...

Look up

Day 243 at Summer Meadow We made it—September’s first breath, sharp and cool, sliding under the skin like a blade of ice. Yippee, I said, but it came out strange, like laughter in a graveyard. The ponies twitched, the chickens scattered, Ted growled low at nothing.

How do you track down the thing behind it all—the hand that lit the stars like matchsticks, spun Earth into its slow dizzy roll, set the planets ticking like broken watches, and even placed that lonely cup of tea in the corner, cooling, waiting, watching?

Day 242 at Summer Meadow The shears sang their hungry song today, and wool drifted like pale ghosts across the grass. One by one the sheep surrendered, fleeces falling in heaps. But Monty poor Monty his trim went beyond tidy. youtube.com/shorts/aCIye...

Day 242 at Summer Meadow I cracked the can, expecting nothing more sinister than bubbles and citrus. Mediterranean orange, they called it—sunlight trapped in liquid. But the fizz bit sharp, and in that moment, the air around me shifted. I swear I saw devils. Or angels.

Day 242 at Summer Meadow It came in a cup, caramel-sweet, branded with false promises. Coffee, they said. Comfort, warmth, life itself. But when I touched it the chill burned deeper than heat ever could. Five dollars. Cold. Served in a can. The world has gone mad.

Day 242 at Summer Meadow Breaking news: civilisation is collapsing. I ordered a caramel latte in a car, mind you and it arrived cold. Five whole dollars for iced disappointment. Even the chickens clucked in disbelief, and Ted staged a dramatic sigh.

Day 242 at Summer Meadow Super Sunday rolls in with weather like a moody teenager Augustus packing his bags, September waiting at the door with that smug grin. The ponies sniff the breeze like fortune tellers. Chickens, of course, demand breakfast first.

Day 240 of Summer Meadow, Devon Today’s question: how exactly do you make compost? Apparently, it’s just a stylish heap of yesterday’s mistakes tea bags, veggie peelings, and Ted’s judgmental stares transformed into tomorrow’s miracle soil.

Anyone in the owners group ?

It's a curious thing, the Oceanis. One moment it's as calm and unbothered as a whale's afternoon nap, and the next it's... well, let's just say it appears to have misplaced its tea and is now asking everyone

Day 240 of Summer Meadow Hark! Thor himself sharpens his hammer above the Devon sky. The storm marches in whispers, promising its big finale at midnight. Chickens have retreated, hay bunkers secured. Even Margaret and Crystal looked skyward, muttering, “Not today, thunder dude.” We wait.

Day 240 of Summer Meadow The storm tiptoes nearer, smugly scheduled for midnight drama. Preparations are “complete,” which is human for “probably not.” Chickens, unusually obedient, tucked in early hay forts raised, feathers fluffed. Even Margaret and Crystal muttered bedtime prayers.

In the whimsical world of Summer Meadow, on day 240, Tuesday morning finds us prepared and ready. The chickens, guinea fowl, and all creatures great and small are snug, awaiting the storm's grand entrance with binoculars and a profound sense of ready-ness. Don't Panic.

@thegodpodcast.com I’ve missed you

@thegodpodcast.com "It is with the greatest sense of profound relief that I've stumbled upon your wisdom once more. It's a bit like finding a perfectly brewed cup of tea in a universe where the only other option is lukewarm dishwater."

Day 238: On this most excellent Bank Holiday Monday, the motivation at Summer Meadow is palpable. For me, it's that fresh, hot brew of pure thought that gets the synapses firing. It's the simple things, really. Like a good cup of tea. What gets you going?

Day 238: The sheep of Summer Meadow have decided to throw off the shackles of Monday's mundane motivations. Today, Monty the sheep, in an unprecedented act of defiance against woolly conformity, dyed his entire fleece a rather fetching shade of luminous green.