7 Reasons

Tag: hay

  • 7 Reasons To Be A Farmer

    7 Reasons To Be A Farmer

    Yesterday Marc gave you 7 Reasons To Be A Father, so, in line with my attitude as to do as little work as possible, I have changed just two letters. Today it’s seven reasons to turn yourself into one of these:

    7 Reasons To Be A Farmer
    A Farmer

    1.  Burglars. Late to bed, early to rise. As farmer’s sayings go, that isn’t a particularly popular one. But that does not make it any less true. Most plummet at 11pm and arise at 4am. That gives your average robber only a five hour period to commit their crimes. Most people have the correct amount of sleep and thus give burglars a further three hours to work in. So yes, ‘Stop Crime, Become A Farmer’. And of course, if you do find someone fiddling with your cucumbers, you have a pitching fork to stab them with. Assuming Big Dave pushes through this whole ‘fewer rights for burglars’ thing, you’ll be good to poke his eyes out too. The burglar’s, not Cameron’s.*

    2.  Machines. Not only will you get your hands on a Land Rover, you’ll also have a legitimate reason to have one. And an even more legitimate reason not to wash it. But that’s not all! Oh no. You’ll also have a combine harvester, a quad bike, a tractor and one very good excuse to spend all your time in the garage. Which means your farmer’s wife (or husband) has a very good reason to stay in the kitchen making you pork pies.

    3.  Scarecrow. No more fancy dress shops for you. Your ready-made costume is in that field. Never have your looked so good in you dad’s clothes.

    4.  Ooo Arghhh! Everyone likes putting on an accent, but there is a time and a place. The Brixton-bound 192, for example, is not the bus on which to pretend you are a native Jamaican. (That woman’s accusation that I was reenacting a scene from It Ain’t Half Hot Mum still upsets me to this day). Anyway, the point is that as soon as you become a farmer you get the accent. Whether it be a West-Country burr, an East-Anglian whirr or the hoity-toityness of an organic crop grower.

    5.  Dog. If you want a four legged friend but your partner doesn’t, become a farmer. All farmers have to have a dog. It’s like a rule or something. A farmer without a dog is like a football match without Ashley Young diving. Or Gordon Brown playing a game of marbles without being tempted to whip his glass eye out. It just doesn’t happen.

    6.  Wellington Boots. Apart from those couple of days in January and one weekend in June, when else do you where your boots? Exactly, hardly ever. Wellington boots have one of the highest ‘cost to use’ ratios of any product in the world. Ever. Unless you are a farmer. Because if you are a farmer you always wear boots. In the winter and the summer. In the cow shed and the bath. On the farm and the dog. Farmers have the best ‘cost-to-use’ wellington boot ratio of anyone in the world. Ever. Fact.

    7.  Hay. Some farmers loan out their fields. Some loan out their barns. Some loan out their wives. What I have a never seen a farmer do, however, is utilise the amount of spare hay they have. Which seems odd really. With so many horny people about, they could easily charge £10 for a roll in the hay.

    *Sorry if this disappoints you.

    NB: I came up with five of these. The best two came from someone else. And she’s not even a farmer. Weird.

  • 7 Reasons That Hay Fever Sucks

    7 Reasons That Hay Fever Sucks

    I don’t know what I was thinking when I named this piece 7 Reasons That Hay Fever Sucks.  I’m not an American teenager, I’m a grown Englishman.  If you could kindly imagine it says 7 Reasons That It Is Most Disadvantageous To Be Afflicted With Hay Fever or 7 Reasons That I Find Hay Fever To Be A Bothersome Nuisance at the top of the page, I’d be much obliged.

    A terrified man fleeing from a haystack.

    1.  It’s Crap.  Fever is an emotive word redolent of all sorts of epic maladies and high emotions.  The statement: he has cabin fever tells you that he is gripped by claustrophobia and that he is potentially a crazed or deranged madman who could snap at any moment.  The statement: she has World Cup fever tells you that she is in the thrall of one of the world’s great sporting events and is probably in a joyous state of prodigious excitement.  The statement: he has hay fever tells you that he is mildly irritated by flora and is prone to snivelling, some welling up of the eyes and occasional bouts of moaning; he probably carries a pocket-pack of tissues.  Hay is the least impressive of all the fevers.*

    2.  Caught Between A Rock And A Hard Place But With Dishonesty, Mean-Spiritedness And The Disgusting And Unwanted Exchange Of Bodily Fluids Replacing The Aforementioned Rocks And Hard Places.  I have found that the most efficacious method of relieving my symptoms is Beconase, which is applied by inserting a tube nasally, and spraying.  This leads to problems.  When friends or relatives  start feeling their own hay fever symptoms they often – not unreasonably – enquire, “Do you have any hay fever medicine on you?”  The question is always suffixed by this sound.  There are two possible answers to this question.  Yes or No.  If my response is “No”, it would be a lie, and lying is wrong (unless her bum looks big in it).  If my response is “Yes”, I either have to refuse to allow the hay fever-medicine-less person the use of my nasal-spray on the grounds that exchanging snot with them would be disgusting, which would make me appear mean, or I can allow them to use it which, as I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, is disgusting.  Three choices: Lying, meanness or abhorrence.  Hay fever is a minefield.

    3.  The Inexorable Breakdown Of Civil Domestic Relations.  My wife also suffers from hay fever.  This is what the average summer evening sounds like in our house:

    “Achoo!”
    “Bless you.”
    “Thank you.”

    “Achoo!”
    “Bless you.”
    “Achoo!”
    “Bless you”
    “Achoo!”
    “Bless you.”
    “Thank you”

    “Achoo!  Achoo!  Achoo!”
    “Bless you.  Bless you.  Bless you.”
    “Thank you”

    “Achoo!…Oi!”
    “Bless you.”
    “Thank you.”

    “Achoo!”
    “Shut up!  Shut up!  Shut up!  SHUT UP!”

    “Achoo!”

    4.  Hay Fever Is Sneaky.  Like the Spanish inquisition, traffic wardens, or the urge to use the word macaroon, hay fever always strikes when you least expect it.  I didn’t suffer from it at all until I got into my thirties, and now I do.  If you don’t suffer from hay fever now, assume nothing, because you might tomorrow.  And that will make you feel awful and me feel slightly better.  Mostly because of my hay-fever-induced meanness.

    5.  Other People’s Hay Fever Is Annoying Too.  I may be mean, but I try to be polite.  That’s how I was brought up.  I hold doors open for people and I always walk on the outside of a pavement when accompanying a lady (so that a carriage won’t splash mud on her brocaded overskirts, or in case she faints on being startled by a ruffian or a horse).  I also say “bless you” when people sneeze, and when I say it to strangers they often look at me as if I were making a lewd proposition to their grandmother or threatening to kick their cat.  If you want strangers to glare contemptuously at you, bless them.  For some reason they hate it.

    6.  Dribbling.  Dribbling isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  The sight of Cristiano Ronaldo or Pedro Rodriguez dribbling a football is a joy to behold.  I dribble too.  The sight of me dribbling is less of a visual treat though.  I dribble salt-water out of my stinging eyes and snot out of my nose all bloody summer.  I turn up at all manner of social occasions and make a striking first-impression with red-ringed eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, a nose that won’t stop running and a fast-diminishing supply of tissues.  Have hay fever: Will dribble.  Have dribble: Will look disgusting.  Look disgusting: Will repel people.  Repel people: Will find that there’s no queue at the bar and that you don’t have to buy anyone a drink.  Find that there’s no queue at the bar and that you don’t have to buy anyone a drink: Realise that everything has an upside (even dribble).

    7.  Wahey Fever! A couple of years ago, I justified a sneezing fit to a friend in a pub by saying, “Hay fever”.  A stranger at the next table overheard me and enthusiastically replied, “Wahey fever!” before laughing uproariously for a very long time.  This still annoys me.

    *The statement: she has Night Fever tells you that she is in possession of a very fine Bee Gees single.  Or that she is in the throes of an unshakeable urge to boogie.  I realise that I’m getting carried away with the fever-statements now.  I think I may have fever-statement fever.**

    **The statement: he has fever-statement fever tells you that he is afflicted with some sort of typing mania and is still making words appear on the page long after he should have stopped writing and gone to the pub.  Stop now man, you’ve written enough.  Stop.  Stop!