Imagine this: lifting 10 litres of rich buttercup-yellow colostrum milk brimming with cream up to head height and pouring it all down your front. Then spend half an hour in the sun teaching a calf to accept a rubber teat while being smeared in fluorescent orange poo. Well, that was me yesterday. The only part of me that didn’t get covered in milk (digested or otherwise) was the top of my pants sheltered by the overhang of my big pregnant belly. Oh joy! Not even the flies dared come too close.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Cleopatra’s penchant for bathing in milk might have been exaggerated. Either that or she steered clear of colostrum and calf poo mix and went for buttermilk instead. Ah well, you have to be able to laugh at yourself!

By the way: no pic for this post!