…will be mistaken for a countryman.” If that sounds like a wise proverb, it’s because it is – and it’s mine. And the reason that it’s a wise proverb is because it’s true. There I was, walking about, minding my own business whilst wearing my countryman coat, when I stopped minding my own business and engaged a farmer in conversation about the 150 cattle that were approaching up a narrow lane. Assuming that I was a countryman, he entrusted me with the (unpaid) task of stopping traffic (dark green four-wheel drives for the most part – this is the country after all) and stopping the cattle from entering the village. Well being game for anything I accepted the challenge with a stout heart and a handy Nikon. Here is the forefront of that bovine wave of destruction.
I say ‘bovine wave of destruction’ for good reason because – after successfully guiding the confused animals towards their destination – I realised that we were a few short.
A house owner who had come into his garden to take photos said, “Is that the lot?” To which I replied, “I don’t think so.” Adding, “maybe you should open your back gate.”
When he did as he was bid, he discovered this…
Apparently they’d climbed from the sunken lane, pushed through a stand of trees and a hedge, and tucked gleefully into his daffodils. But that was the Drover’s fault: I did my job impeccably, with every beast doing exactly what I told it to do. As a countryman (and the wearer of a countryman coat) I obviously speak Cow.