We enjoy spotting the odd misfit stalk of corn that's growing in the barley field. Maybe we even identify with it, just a little bit ... . We've always inclined to the view that being different isn't necessarily a bad thing. Although I daresay our friend the farmer may have wished for total homogeneity out there in the barley.
We talk about whatever nonsense enters our heads: a glass or two of wine with dinner tends to help make us more expansive.
Emi is very keen to find an alien out on our wanderings. So far we've scored a great big duck egg on that front, but I'll keep you posted ... unless, of course, we're all abducted and taken off to the other end of the Solar System.
My parents compare the hedgerows and the lie of the land to what they're used to back in Northern Ireland.
Here the hedgerows are great thick wildlife reserves. Sometimes we deliberately leave our walk until darkness has fallen, and then we try to go very quietly and listen to the calls of the animals that come out at night. We've got loads of badgers, who can be very noisy neighbours - if you know where to look and what to listen out for. We've got a least one peregrine falcon and a barn owl, who comes out really, really late and sounds super spooky.
A fox or two can sometimes be heard barking in the distance. And then there are the bats. They come out as the twilight darkens and swoop noiselessly around in the air that was, only half an hour before, full of noisy chattering swallows.
When we've had our fill we come inside to google the sounds that we can't quite place, and tell a few more tall tales before we go to bed.