Keepin’ it rural


Well, at least the itching’s stopped. For the last week I’ve been sporting a left arm that slowly went from swollen, red and scourged to normal-sized, red and scourged. To cut a long story short by editing out explanation and context, last Sunday I offered to pick raspberries for a B&B owner in the Forest of Dean. Bindweed, nettles and thorns, topped off with Monmouth sunburn = giant comedy arm that looked out of place on London Underground and could only be soothed with daily antihistamine.

More fruit was picked this weekend, this time in Wiltshire (and with long sleeves), between walks, swims and a fete in the next-door village. Journalist and TV personality Miranda Sawyer was also at the fete, helping a toddler throw sodden sponges through a hoarding for 10p a go. Seeing her gave me a bit of a jolt, truth be told, because utterly non-weirdly I’ve been thinking about her for weeks. See, we (now) share the same hairstyle and I’d been reflecting rather bitterly that it looks 5,000 times better on her.

Decided not to go and tell her that but instead played it cool, standing under a tree nearby, staring intently at her family and whispering ‘Be my friend. Be my friend’. So why hasn’t she called me yet?

Incidentally, I’ve been having an argument with a friend from Kent, who says that village fetes always have a beer tent. Not in Wiltshire, old chum, not in Wiltshire. Booze? Never! I was incredulous at the very notion. I mentioned this to my dad who responded sagely, ‘They’re a funny lot in Kent.’ Not sure how that ties in with fetes, but he wouldn’t be drawn further. So there you have it: they’re a funny lot in Kent.


One Response to “Keepin’ it rural”

  1. 1 Friend from Kent

    They’re a funny lot in Wiltshire going without a beer tent, the best part of a fete, seeing all your fellow villagers drunk and disorderly.

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