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pigs.’
    ‘Is that with that bloke from the village?’
    ‘So you’ve met the mad pig man, Josh, already, bloody hell, man, he didn’t waste much time did he?’
    ‘Yeah, he was here first thing Sunday morning, and he is a bit odd.’
    ‘I should say,’ Chris interrupted, ‘did you know that years ago his parents owned our farm and the old man, his father, hung himself in the barn. I think it was Josh that found him, he was only a kid; no wonder the poor bugger is a bit odd and has a squeaky voice.’
    ‘That’s awful, you wouldn’t think that something like that would happen out here, would you?’ Jan said sympathetically.
    ‘I suppose not Jan, but it just shows it’s not all milk and honey out here,’ Chris answered, rather pensively.
    ‘And while your at it, don’t forget the mice, pet. She’s got a thing about mice,’ said Keith, his voice full of sarcasm. He seemed annoyed, angry almost, that his wife was giving out all the doom and gloom whilst he was in ‘happy’ mode.
    ‘Oh yes, the mice. The little so and so’s love these three foot thick stone walls of these old houses, they come in from the fields in winter and can get in through the tiniest of gaps. And you can hear them scratching about inside the walls. Horrible.’
    ‘ Are you better now?’ Keith remarked with a snide smile.
    ‘Well, I just don’t like them.’ Chris folded her arms in self-defence.
    ‘We haven’t heard any thing have we, Jan?’
    ‘No, I don’t want to either, it sounds awful.’
    ‘You might as well tell them about the low flying while you’re about it, Chris,’ Keith now seemed to be enjoying winding her up.
    ‘What, low flying mice?’ Mike laughed, the drink doing its business.
    ‘No,’ Chris said in rather serious tone, ‘Jet planes. The RAF do low flying exercises over here, they make a hell of a racket and you can’t see them coming. They frighten the life out of me, and the cattle, and then they run all over the place.’
    ‘Cheer up all of you, and drink up, I’ve got another bottle in the van,’ Keith laughed, trying to liven up the gathering.
    ‘Smoke, Keith?’ Mike offered his packet across the table.
    ‘We don’t thanks, Mike, gave it up a year ago,’ Keith refused with a dismissive wave of his hand.
    ‘I’m giving it up too. It’s so expensive,’ Jan said with a slight air of superiority.
    ‘Miss Goody, bloomin’ two shoes,’ Mike retorted, to which they all laughed.
    ‘Talking of odd people, have you meet any of the locals yet, apart from mad Josh?’ Keith asked.
    ‘I’ve had some women visitors; they didn’t seem to bad to me,’ replied Jan.
    ‘I suppose because you’re from south Wales, and Welsh, you’ll fit in better than we have,’ Chris chipped in, ‘but you don’t sound very Welsh though.’
    ‘I don’t know about that, Chris’ Mike said, ‘I think because we don’t speak much Welsh, and ‘cos I’ve got a beard and long hair, they think we’re English hippies. Mind you the kids should be okay, they’ve been going to a Welsh school back home, in Barey. And my grandmother was a Welsh speaker. Of course when she was in school she was forbidden from speaking in Welsh, even in the playground.’
    ‘Bloody hell, I didn’t know that.’ Keith sounded really shocked and interested at such an idea, so Mike thought he would continue the tale.
    ‘If the teachers heard a child talking Welsh then they would make them wear a smallish wooden label with W N on it-Welsh Not- around their neck. If someone else was caught out, then the label would be passed to that kid. The last one wearing it at the end of the day had the cane-good eh?’
    ‘Man, I know you’re Welsh, –but they’re worse than I thought.
    ‘But all that was a was a long time ago,’ Jan said, a little surprised at Mikes rather passionate comments.
    ‘Aye, they can be a bit offhand, to say the least,’ Keith continued, ‘I don’t think it’s because they hate us English, it’s more like