Mr. McFarlin

And so we find Mr. Mcfarlin, Mr. Smells McFarlin to be precise, in his kitchen. It's a large room and filled with things that are mostly uncommon to kitchens, such as the well worn brown leather arm chair where Mr. McFarlin likes to drink his tea and listen to the radio. It's so much more convenient to have an armchair in the kitchen, saves him the time having to waddle all the way down the hall to the living room. Various tools and bits of farming paraphenalia are scattered about the place, but it is not dirty. Despite it's large size the room feels cramped.

Tea is an almost ceremonious affair - a big warmed pot filled with enough for several people. He always gives his farming helpers a brew at 11am on the dot...but they are not allowed to come in, they'll need to take thier tea off down the path and into the rickety barn to sit on scratchy bales of hay. Mr McFarlin needs his 20 minutes of peace before getting back out on his putt putting tractor. No animals on this farm, all vegetables for the people of Stroppingdon and perhaps a little wider out into the Walrushire county.