One good thing about these few weeks of farm work is that I get to play at being a real man. Being an academic sitting, reading, thinking and writing (no so much the latter two) is all well and good, but at some point you've just got to grab a saw with a noisy motor and cut some heads. Of raspberry plants. Then spend the week wincing every time you grab, catch or pull something because you hurt your elbow due to poor technique with the heavy saw.

Farm work is also highlighting some serious gaps in my man skills. I never did join the scouts, and probably never listened when my father tried to teach me, and so I am terrible at knots (do scouts teach these things?). I mean I really, really suck at knots. Also climbing. And whistling. I have picked up a couple of useful tricks in the last couple of weeks, but it is a little embarrassing. My limited spanish is coming back a little, at least. Soy rubbish con la cuerda. Which is not much help when I am working with the cambodians (who mercifully speak french) rather than the guatemalans, but there we go.

But still, I get to spend all day outside toiling the earth (I don't know what that means), carrying heavy things, stacking things, taking apart things, cutting things, shovelling things, driving things. Afterwards, I cook dinner, read books, and go to charity cheese and wine evenings (actually, only the one), because real men can be cultured too.

Footnote: The picture is terrible because it was taken with a phone. Real working men clearly don't take cameras to work, but I needed something.