Somehow, without me quite noticing, summer suddenly appeared to be in full swing, and with it the merry go round of joy that is the series of events that all fall under the heading of Funland in The Big Field (yes, I bloody love Father Ted, and yes, generally they all feature Freak Pointing in one form or another).
I was quite annoyed about the unexpected onset of summer as once again I had failed to become magically thin, grow proper nails or arrange a grown up method of removing the full pelt I grow for warmth in the winter months.
The opening of Summer is marked by the first and most important Funland in the Big Field, the local agricultural show. There are tractors and cows and sheeps, and gloriously bejodhpured girls trotting briskly from the pages of a Jilly Cooper. There is also the hideous corner where they put the gypsies and their amusements (most unJilly like gypsies too), which is all the hateful children are interested in.
Mrs Farmer, in a cunning masterstroke, proposed she would take the Beast and Farmer Boy to The Big Field first thing, along with various cows and sheep, and possibly a tractor. Thus she could show them the many varieties of sheep and cows available, and what larks they would have.
Then later, she suggested sweetly, I could pop along and meet them and perhaps amuse the boys for a while, whilst she did farmery type things. "What ho!" I thought. "That seems a good deal, shove a plate of porridge down the Beast at silly o'clock, hand him over and nip back to bed for a couple of hours, before a leisurely afternoon perusing country type things and perhaps purchasing a few adorable tweed items."
Mrs Farmer also, for her heart is black as night, remarked I should bring the Terror, for he would have 'such fun'. Even better, I thought, for the Terror, despite his horrid ways, does accessorise tweed beautifully!
Thus it was that I piled Saff and the Terror into my Mighty Honda just before lunch and set off. About two miles from the Big Field we encountered the enormous traffic jam of plebs attempting to also have Fun. I texted Mrs Farmer to inform her we would be late, she replied with a blasé "Yes, the sun makes the Great Unwashed come out."
I was distraught! I did not want Great Unwashed! I wanted Tilly, and Milly and Clarissa cantering into the ring; I wanted stout ladies in knickerbockers wielding black labs called Jarspar; I wanted jolly good old sorts balanced on their shooting sticks reminiscing about things they had shot in far flung colonies; I wanted floral blankets and wicker hampers and shady hats; I wanted someone from Merchant Ivory to appear forthwith and seamlessly blend my two visions into one, like they were in my head!!!!! Merchant Ivory do not do Great Unwashed! What was I to do?
I ploughed on regardless, not least because there was nowhere to turn the Mighty Honda, and also because I felt it was probably bad form to abandon my son to the Great Unwashed. Once I had finally arrived at the Big Field, I was directed through many and many smaller and smaller fields until a man shouted "Park there". Back to the Big Field we trudged, past the Clarissas' and Millies' and Tillies' horseboxes, regretting the choice of ballet pumps and thinking longingly of the lovely Dubarries languishing in the porch at home.
Mrs Farmer had sent a confusing text as to their location, ordering me to come hither as she was already doing farmery things. We walked many miles past stall after stall all selling various varieties of lurid tat. My antennae were quivering for tweed, but not a hint. My soul began to die. Actually it was already dying due to the Unwashed, who were spilling everywhere, shovelling hamburgers into their gobs and towing Pitbulls and Alsatians.
Annoyingly, the Great Unwashed Canines were far better behaved than the Terror, who had worked himself into a state of frothing psychosis with excitement at the many many things to kill. "Horses! Dogs! Fat people! What to bite first? Ooh, manky hamburger, gulp! Sheep! Big fuck off cow! I could totally take a big fuck off cow. SAUSAGEINABUN!!! YEAH! GULP!!!!"
I finally found Mrs F and the boys, whereupon she revealed her fiendish plan. They were foaming at the mouth with excitement almost as much as the dog, and she remarked they were "keen" to go on the rides- would I mind taking them, while she farmered it up?
Feeling some small consolation that she had admitted she was on the verge of heat stroke in her Dubes and had expressed envy for my ballet pumps, I set off for Gypsyland. It was hell. Loud. Awful. Unwashed upon Unwashed. Gypsies. Rampaging children. The one highlight was when a stupid Unwashed with a Chihuahua on a string fell upon the Terror, cooing "What a cute doggie." My darling Terror fell upon the Chihuahua and almost swallowed it whole. She beat a hasty retreat clutching her nasty rat and shouting "Devil dog!" Hell, yes. The Terror does not take kindly to being called 'cute'.
The best part of £30 later, the boys finally declared they felt nauseous enough to leave. Oh the joy with which I fled Gypsyland! Returning to the ring, where some very large cows were parading, we rejoined Mrs Farmer, now a lurid shade of puce, but clinging to the Dubes and her tweed like a trooper. As we slumped to watch the parading cows, a hearty gent approached the boys. "Hello chaps! Picking up tips? Now remember what I told you earlier!"
"Who the fuck is that?" I asked Mrs F.
"Errrr. The vet."
"What vet? Not from our vets?"
"Yeeeessss. He's the head vet."
"I've never seen him, I've only seen whippersnappers and been charged a King's ransom for the privilege. £5 to ADMINISTER an injection! As well as a consultation fee, and the cost of the drugs!!! Plus VAT" I was just getting on a roll when I remembered how we got onto the subject.
"How does he know the boys anyway?"
"Weeeeeell, I had to go do farmery things, while you were in the traffic jam with the Unwashed. So I left them with the vet."
"You did what! What were you thinking? He'll bloody bill for that"
"I know. He'll probably actually bill us both."
To add insult to injury, I then received a text from a friend offering access to the Sponsors Tent and unlimited Pimms. How I cursed the Mighty Honda. I could bear it no more, I gathered the boys and the Terror, remembered to locate Saff along the way and fled home for gin
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