Neighbourhood Watch

It's official - Spring has sprung in Bovinia.  The village has, in the space of one warm weekend, turned into a giant car park to accommodate all the pallid city people trying to get rural.  Our good neighbour Herr NN has exchanged his woollen winter cap for his Tyrolean green felt hat.  He's also been sporting a rather fetching pair of tight grey dungarees - for garden work only, naturally.  He's been cock-a-hoop this weekend as his pet project, the big green garden waste container, arrived and was open, on Saturday, for business for the first time since November last year.  I saw him nipping out just after dawn to check it was really there.  Then, at eight o'clock sharp, he was off with his wheelbarrow piled high with... garden waste.  He wasn't alone.  Half the village seemed to be trailing there.  We joined the throng only slightly later, and that was because he came over to tell us to hurry, there wasn't much room left, and the 'other side' wouldn't be opened till Tuesday!   There was nothing for it - we just had to go. I hope he's happy now.  Having recovered from the container excitement, he proceeded to spend the day in his garden, watching us in our garden, commenting on each and every new venture.  By the evening I was getting a bit cheesed off, to be honest.  I was pleased when he shuffled off inside to watch the football, or whatever it is that entices him away from the great outdoors when it's still light.

But back to the general Spring theme, which is not one I am going to focus on much, as it isn't my favourite season (too unreliable) AND it is, frankly, boring to harp on about buds on trees and birds building nests.  However, warm weather and lighter evenings mean more running and cycling for the Reluctant Housewife and thus more opportunities to examine my surroundings.  It struck me this evening that quite a few signs promising 'Holidays on the Farm' have appeared.  Now, if you are still nursing some romantic notion that holidaying anywhere on or near a farm might make for a relaxing break, allow me to enlighten you.  As a seasoned country dweller, I can assure you that farms are anything but restful.  Where shall I start: the stink from the dung heaps?  The flies?  Some stupid rooster crowing every five minutes, all day long?  Not to mention the fact that farmers like to get up extremely early, and that the cranking of machinery will drive you crazy.  In my opinion, the only people who truly benefit from farmyard holidays are very young children, who, like farmers, also get up horrendously early and then proceed to be on the move the whole day long.  Little children love animals - even boring ones like chickens - and tractors.  By evening their parents are exhausted and won't mind that there's no pub round the corner to drown their sorrows.  All they can think about is the same thing happening, all over again, the next morning.  And fall into a deep, dreamless sleep until Junior wakes up screaming at 3 a.m. But the children will be in holiday heaven, and a happy child is lower maintenance than a grumpy one.

I hope you find my argument convincing and book yourself into a luxury spa hotel instead.  Unless, of course, you have two-year-old triplets.