So I’ve always loved alpacas and I do love olives, and over these last few months as I’ve been devising my cunning plan to not just preserve my sanity, stave off alcoholism and avoid divorce, but also to enjoy a satisfying, productive and contributory life, I have been forming this idea.

An idea which has been brewing for many years, but is finally synthesising into excellence.

An alpaca farm and olive grove.

And I found the perfect place in Spain for just such a finca, not far out of Gaucin, where the boys could walk to the waterhole and I could still see out past Gibralter.

It would be awesome. Ace.

The mister refuses to invest in such a project (in any way – financially, physically or emotionally). He says that having funded his way through university by picking apricots, he has no desire to return to a life of primary production. I say, that’s fine, it will be my farm. At which point, he says…well, let’s just say he is unsupportive.

I have endless niche ideas, and we would have a ready market in the Adelaide Central Market. Alpaca milk cheese (‘do alpaca’s make milk? the mister asked) is only the beginning.

So anyone wants to be a sleeping partner in what is a bloody good idea, let me know. All I need is your money. You would not have to pick olives or shave alpacas or anything like that. Me and the lads will take care of all that. As an added bonus, you could come and visit once or twice a year, and I reckon you’d be able to claim the airfare back on tax (though check that with your accountant, I might just be making that up).

I’m not saying this would be our exact view, but it would be something along the lines of:

From spain
From spain