Pigs

So we've got a few days off at the end of the month, and we fancy a trip out to York, maybe down to Beverley... might even get across to The Deep in Hull. So as not to cram too much into one day, we decided to book into a B&B for the night. As Louise is far more excited by the second of those B's than the first (and who can blame her, under the circumstances?), we found one with a breakfast menu that goes on forever (and includes a choice of salmon or steak - yes, steak - if you don't fancy the full English).

So yesterday I called up to book a room. A nice enough chap answered and we started talking about the facilities on offer. When I gave my address as "...Farm", he asked - "you a farmer, then?" I explained not, I just live in my dad's shed: he's the farmer.

"I used to be a pig farmer," he explained, "hated it."

"So," I said, "you prefer your new occupation then?"

There was a slight pause before he answered. "Well, I dunno... I'm still feeding pigs..."

Now some people... some people might have found this offputting, coming from a prospective B&B landlord. Me? I can't wait to meet him!