The Diary of a Country Bumpkin

Patience

Patience is a virtue, possess it if you can. Seldom in a woman and never in a man. Generally old sayings such as this which have been around for some considerable time have more than an element of truth in them, I myself can only judge by the difference between myself and my wife when reacting to a situation where patience may be required.

Obviously I am virtually perfect as an example of the male of the species, however I would have to admit I may not be quite as patient as my wife, especially when I am let loose in a motorised vehicle, although in my defence I would say, there are plenty worse than me.

I am extremely lucky to possess two rather splendid Bentley motorcars, the older of which is a 1947 Mk VI and the newer is a 2000 Bentley Arnage and although both are completely different I enjoy driving both of them, most of the time. The earlier 1947 motor has a 4.25 litre engine and the 2000 one has a 6.75 litre engine together with a turbocharger which propels it at enormous velocity, and perhaps, not surprisingly I am more patient when driving the older motor.

Whilst on the subject of Bentley motorcars, my I briefly redirect you, especially those of you who may possess a Bentley or merely have an enthusiasm for these splendid vehicles to my other blog where I have an article seeking new members for the Bentley Drivers Club.

http://www.joewellsofwhomithasbeensaid.com/2018/03/bentley-drivers-wanted.html

As I now live in the country there are plenty of vehicles for me to become stuck behind, tractors, bicycles, and more especially horses which require considerable care when passing as they can be easily spooked. However the odd occasions where a modicum of frustration may creep into my normally placid demeanour is when stuck behind slower drivers where there is no necessity for perambulating at what can only be described as snails pace.

I know some readers may not be quite as keen on the internal combustion engine as I am, so I wish to dispel the idea that I am hooning about the countryside like Toad of Toad Hall with scant regard to my fellow travellers with whom I am sharing the road and would like to point out, I only get a bit of a lick on when it is absolutely safe to do so.

Most men tend not to read the instructions when constructing things, not I think through a lack of patience but merely because they have the ability to see how something is put together without the need of instructions, although there are also males who attempt the same task without instructions and make a complete pigs ear of it, watched patiently by their loving and caring partners. They may then show even more patience and compassion by uttering the phrase, “never mind dear, you tried your best, we didn’t need a wardrobe that badly, anyway.”

To those of my readers who have read this to the end, I apologise if I have bored you with too much car stuff, you must have the patience of a saint and for that, I thank you.

Incubate

My blog on this site was originally the story of a Londoner coming to terms with life in the country having moved from the town, which then morphed into my acceptance and indeed pleasure in living in the country.

Today’s choice of word gives me the opportunity to discuss country matters, something which I haven’t done for some time, however with the choice of word being incubate I was immediately thinking of the life cycle of the fauna in my neck of the woods. I have come to love the countryside but have to admit I know nothing of the workings of it.

For example just up the road from where we live is a chicken farm but I could no more tell you the incubation period for a chicken than fly, nor for that matter could I solve the perennial conundrum of whether the chicken or the egg came first. I have a feeling even country folk don’t know the answer to that one.

I know so little of the reproductive process of the animals, the reason being, when I was at school the reproductive cycle and all the associated gubbins of a rabbit was what sufficed for what is now called sex education. It was taught in such a way as to make the subject seem slightly grubby, which may explain why I have little recollection of the matter, there is also the possibility that during this lesson I was day dreaming, as I did on a regular basis during my school days.

Anything I may have gleaned about the incubation of farm animals would have been learned from watching episodes of the popular television programme, “All creatures great and small,” based on the memoirs and written by James Herriot, a country vet in Yorkshire in the 1930’s and his partners in the veterinarian practice, Tristran and Seigfried Farnon. Unfortunately there seem to have been far too many episodes where James Herriot had his arm up a cows rear end which tended to distract from any meaningful dialogue which may have explained the process of reproduction.

As you may be able to tell I try to steer clear of any involvement with animal poo if at all possible hence I am rarely called upon to have any dealing with our daughter’s horses, although sometimes if she is really stuck she will ask us to go and feed them for her. Now she has horses of both sexes and sometimes the large male can get himself aroused and attempt to mount the female, such that any woman of a nervous disposition would have to avert her eyes. Even as a fairly stoic male I have to admit, it gives new meaning to the phrase, “careful with that thing, you’ll have someone’s eye out.”

Well I think that’s more than enough to prove to you dear reader how little I know of the insemination or incubation of farm animals and if it involves any contact with poo, I’m more than happy for it remain that way.

Wrinkle

Having woken this morning and consumed my usual cup of tea I set about my ablutions and whilst in the process of shaving I had occasion to view my face, “my what a fine figure of a man, with the face of an angel and not a wrinkle to be seen anywhere” I thought, and then I woke up.

Somewhat later I dragged my bleary eyed self to the bathroom and went through the same process again, only this time I was awake, gravity I’m sad to say has a lot to answer for. I do possess photographs of my younger self and am forced to wonder whether my parents substituted the image of another child, for the cherubic infant with tight golden curls and stunning blue eyes is a far cry from the “interesting” face I now carry. I shouldn’t complain for it was my “interesting character face” wrinkles and all, which assisted in getting me many a job in my career as a mediocre bit part actor.

Due to the quirky nature of my face I would usually play the butler and rarely the master, so it usually fell to me whilst playing Lane or Merriman to iron the wrinkles from the daily newspaper as was the custom of the day. It’s rather a shame we don’t continue with customs like this, but as we hardly produce any newspapers nowadays the necessity to iron them is greatly reduced also.

Whilst gravity may have a detrimental effect on one, at least there are some positive aspects of getting a little older, for with the passing of years one can amass vast knowledge and learn many a wrinkle which can leave the young struggling in your wake. Unfortunately it works both ways for while I have amassed great knowledge in many things, modern computer wizkiddery is not one of them and this is where the young get their own back. The young are left exasperated whilst trying to explain to me, what seems like the simplest task to them and I am generally left confused and frowning adding yet more wrinkles to my already jaded forehead.

Provoke

I assume the choice of the word provoke for today’s daily post prompt was specifically chosen to provoke a reaction, whereby those who partake in the challenge of writing daily would rush to their keyboards and compose fascinating and witty pieces of prose such that previous winners of the Nobel prize for Literature would be shamed into handing back their prizes. Let’s hope so.

We live in very strange times where the incidence of knife crime, for that is how it is described is on the increase. I wonder if it is described as knife crime in a vain attempt to allay the fears of certain sections of the populous of a more nervous disposition, who are hoodwinked into thinking it is the theft of a kitchen knife from the local hardware store , rather than a vicious stabbing.

The days when a couple of chaps, who after a minor disagreement would be provoked into a bout of fisticuffs seem long gone, replaced by the more unsavoury aspect of gang culture which results in a death from stabbing, provoked by members of one gang intruding on another’s turf.

Strange how a word can lead you in a certain direction, often I think, from the feel of the word rather than necessarily the meaning, for provoke can be to anger, enrage, or to stir up. Conversely it can arouse or incite, both words one could use to describe the raising of an army, provoking an entire generation to heed the call to defend the nation in times of war.

I’m sure just recently on Mother’s day there were many a child provoked into the purchase of a bunch of flowers from the local petrol station, or a small box of chocolates from the supermarket, by a quiet phone call from their father. “Don’t forget it’s Mother’s Day on Sunday, do you need me to text our address, I wasn’t sure if you’d forgotten where we live.” I suppose, it is the thought that counts, even if they needed provoking into that thought.

Men, as we all know are different from women, for it takes considerably more to provoke a man into a visit to the doctors surgery, women go on a regular basis to have their bits and pieces inspected, whereas a man will carry a great pustulous injury for some considerable time. It is not until it becomes the size of a melon that he can be provoked into a visit to the quack.

I was tempted to write something controversial on first seeing the choice of word for today but decided to refrain as I didn’t want to provoke any ill feeling and end up being trollied or whatever they call it on Twitter, it’s bad enough having Trump spouting controversial nonsense without me joining in as well.

Noise

Forgive me for asking the question but as my mind tends not to always work in what might be termed the conventional manner, I had a thought about noise and the sound omitted from most babies. I very much doubt if anyone has ever wondered if the noise a screaming crying baby makes actually annoys the baby quite as much as it does some adults, I assume not, for if it was as annoying for the baby, it would surely stop.

I am hoping my previous sentence has not upset too many parents of young children, or of course it may have struck a cord with them and caused them to wonder the same thing.

Modern youth can make a horrendous noise just chatting to each other, mostly because they haven’t developed the etiquette of polite conversation, where those participating will take it in turns to enter the fray, unlike the more modern version where everyone talks at the same time, until the noise level is such that I’m amazed anybody can hear what they’re saying.

Odd how when one is young one craves loud music, often witnessed when a young person passes in his motor car, the bass so loud you can see the car body flexing with the beat. When you’re young you watch motor racing, the unsilenced cars so loud as to cause permanent damage to your ear drums.

Then, with the passing of time you become an old codger and you start making noise by watching the television so loud due to the damage inflicted earlier in your life, that the windows shake and then falling asleep in your chair you start snoring with such volume the neighbours come round to complain.

Interestingly, it would seem we are all able to make noise from cradle to grave and during the course of our lives we have the ability to annoy virtually everyone at some time or another and to those who may have taken offence, I apologise.

Grasp

I was unsure whether to take on the challenge of today’s daily prompt word as I was not certain I had a proper grasp of the meaning of the word grasp but I persevered and although gripped with trepidation finally came up with an opening sentence.

“Very good,” I thought, but where to go from there, I felt a little like a drowning man, who faced with imminent death would grasp at straws in a vain attempt to save his life. Somewhat like the poor souls on the Titanic who threw themselves into the freezing icy waters clutching nothing more than a flimsy wooden deckchair, unable to quite grasp the seriousness of the situation. Although I rather suspect they would have been more than a little aware of the futility of the situation upon entering the water and being grasped by it’s icy tentacles.

From being distressed in freezing waters my mind was led inexplicably to being in trouble facing a rampaging bull where the only course of action left to save one’s life was to grasp the animal by the horns and presumably cling on for dear life. Whether one might manage to mount the bull whilst still grasping his horns and ride the animal in the finest traditions of rodeo, I have no idea and I hope I never get the opportunity to find out if such acrobatics would be feasible under the circumstances.

My previous topics seem to have inadvertently contained nothing but fear, distress and death, so I shall change tack and comment on the slightly safer subject of grasping the nettle. I imagine this expression has come into common usage from the experience of gently rubbing ones hand on a stinging nettle to be left with a rather sore hand and a nasty rash. Conversely should one grasp the nettle firmly one is allegedly not stung although I have to admit I have never tried the technique, only in a metaphorical manner when dealing with a subject like grasp, for example.

Well, that’s my blog finished, although I’m not sure whether I really got to grips with the subject but I’m hoping you, my dear reader, found it sufficiently gripping to read to the end.

Captivating

I looked up the definition of captivate, which is, to hold the attention of someone by being extremely interesting, exciting, pleasant or attractive, I assume by being any one of the above, for if you possessed all of the aforementioned attributes at the same time it would surely demand a word all of it’s own.

It appears then, that one can be captivating by being extremely interesting, but how do we define interesting, I would find a chap discussing the finer points of maintenance on his vintage Bentley to be extremely interesting, one might even say captivating, however this would be enough to put my wife almost instantaneously into a coma like state. There are many women who find nothing more captivating than a shopping trip but to a large percentage of the male population the thought of a trip round the shops causes most of them to loose the will to live.

We all have different ways of looking at things, as indeed with the next option for being captivating, that of being exciting. Some folk may revel in the excitement of thrashing round a motor racing track at death defying speed or shooting down a bob sleigh run so fast the vibrations cause one to have permanent optical nerve damage. Conversely both these options, whilst being captivating to some may cause others who experience them to flee the scene in floods of tears to rush and change their undergarments.

When viewing the definition one would not have thought initially that one could be captivating by being pleasant unless as part of a Jane Austen novel, but remember many a heaving breast and finely turned ankle has wooed vast numbers of leading men when presented pleasantly. Indeed to quote Jane Austen, “a single woman of good fortune, is always respectable, and may be as sensible and pleasant as any body else.”

Finally we have come to the aspect which is probably most peoples idea of being captivating, that of being attractive or beautiful in a physical sense. Beauty is indeed a thing that is in the eye of the beholder, for it wasn’t that long ago in Renaissance art for example where the fuller figure was definitely de rigueur, moving through history getting slimmer in the 1960’s and later to the 1990’s heroin chic look and back again to the Kim Kardashian more curvy figure again today. With every age there is a look which young people aspire to as the look to be captivating, although personally I have to admit that eyebrows painted on so heavily they look like Groucho Marx’s moustache is one I don’t find greatly captivating.

Well, that’s the end of my blog for today and I’m hoping you found it sufficiently captivating to enjoy and read to the end.

Meander

I meandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Suddenly

I was reading an article recently which started,”Boater suddenly falls from boat,” and my first reaction was one of surprise as I didn’t think a story of a fellow loosing his boater hat was much of a news item, much as I can sympathise with him as I would be fairly upset if I lost my boater whilst on a boating trip. Continuing to the end it seems I had got the wrong end of the stick and the story was indeed newsworthy, as the truth of the matter was the tragic death of a fellow who had fallen from his boat and drowned. I have no idea though whether he was wearing a hat.

Uncompromising

I have been rather busy for the last few days and haven’t had the time to blog and was in two minds whether I was going to be motivated enough today but with uncompromising determination I have metaphorically put pen to paper.

Is it good or bad to be uncompromising, I suppose it depends on the circumstances, whilst climbing Mount Everest with Sherpa Tensing an uncompromising attitude to getting to the top no doubt helped Edmund Hillary in being the first man to the summit.

However the same could not be said of Captain Scott of the Antarctic who had a similar determination but was less able to compromise than his Norwegian competitor, Roald Armundsen to be the first to the South Pole. Scott was determined to make his, a scientific expedition and took tons of equipment, horses, petrol driven sleighs and food for all of them and the race to the pole was a secondary consideration.

Whilst both men were uncompromising in the way they went about their expeditions, Armundsen took dog sleighs and was equipped for speed leaving Scott far behind and arriving first at the South Pole on 14th Dec 1911. Sadly Scott was not only last to the pole but his uncompromising attitude may well have led to his death on the way back caught in a blizzard and running out of food.

During the First World War both sides took a very uncompromising attitude with regard to the enormous loss of life, taking it in turns to leave their trenches, walking across no mans land towards the enemy and eventually being mowed down in vast numbers by the machine guns. It has been said that the Allies had done the arithmetic and had worked out if virtually everyone on both sides was slaughtered we would still have sufficient men left to be declared as winners.

It was with similar uncompromising determination that we set about winning the Second World War which I suggest is one of the reasons for us wanting to leave the EU, for having freed the entire continent of Europe we rather resent having to kowtow to a bunch of cheese eating surrender monkeys and with that slightly uncompromising thought I shall leave you for another day.