My mother warned me about men like him...
The journey from my home to the farm where Humbug, Toby and
Taz live takes around 5 or 6 minutes by car. It's a pleasant country drive,
along lanes that until recently were frothing with cow-parsley. There's a
diverse mix of greenery along the edges of the lanes, ideal for the local
wildlife to hide in before running across to the other side just as the car
approaches! I've been accused (mainly by my children) of driving like an old
lady - however I'm simply trying to avoid the rabbits, hares, pheasants, deer
and occasional rogue peacock from becoming roadkill.
One afternoon I arrived at the farm and pulled in on the lane-side so I could
walk across and open the hefty gate which would allow the car access into the
yard. There was an old guy on the grass verge just below the gateway, wielding
an industrial sized grass trimmer - the kind that needs a harness over the
gardener's shoulders to take the weight. He was obliterating the cow-parsley,
grasses and weeds along the wall of our field, which seemed a shame, but it did
mean that visibility up and down the lane would be improved. He switched off
the machine and lifted his goggles (safety first!) to peer at me, bits of
grass, leaves and insects stuck to his sweaty, sunburned face.
"Are tha lost?" he asked.
"No no, I'm fine, thanks" I replied, expecting him to continue his
annihilation of our greenery.
He continued peering, and instead of switching his trimmer back on to go about
his business, he stepped in closer, winked, and beckoned me with a gnarly
finger.
"Come 'ere, I've got summat to show you" he whispered
conspiratorially.
Oh heck!
"My mother warned me about men like you!" I quipped as I started to
back away...
"Aye, she shoulda done!" He joked back!
He walked over to where I hoped to park my car, still beckoning me, the trimmer
now redundant, swinging forlornly from the harness and bashing him on the
ankles. He made sure I was paying attention, bent down so he could see through
the gate, grinned at me with barely a tooth in his head, and pointed...
"Look - there's two little ponies!"
Humbug and Toby, always up for a bit of entertainment, had apparently been
keeping him company as he trimmed up and down the other side of their wall, and
had persuaded him to part with the crusts of his lunchtime sandwiches.
He'd given them names - "Chatty" and "Ginger" (no prizes
for guessing who was who!) and was clearly captivated by them. They both
whinnied as they saw me, but he was delighted that they were talking to 'him',
and he laughed at them, telling them he'd got no more sandwiches!
I laughed, and admitted that they're actually our ponies, and took him to meet
them. He told me that he'd been brought up on farms, loved the outdoor life and
although he'd 'retired' many years ago aged 75, he kept his hand in by hiring
himself out to the local farms doing bits of gardening, tidying, walling etc.
Humbug was very interested in the trimmer, particularly the sharp metal blades
encrusted with old grass, spiders and leaves, and chewed the debris off before
turning his attention to the guys bare legs. I explained that he bites, and
that I took no responsibility for any injury! The guy ruffled Humbug's
considerable shaggy forelock, and said,
"Aye, he won't bite me, or he'll get no more sandwich crusts!"
Weirdly, Humbug didn't bite him - maybe this is where I've been going wrong all
these years; I should have been bribing him with sandwiches!
Until next time...
Lisa xx
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