About the Publisher
Every Neighbourhood should have a great Lady.
| FROM: | [email protected] |
| TO: | [email protected] |
| SUBJECT: | cracked jugs – daft buggers – & tank traps |
Hi Cass!
How’s things in darkest Africa? Wierd & wonderful – I bet – but not so w&w as what weve got here at Willingden Farm. Go on – guess! OK – give up?
House-guests!
& I dont mean awful Uncle Ernie on one of his famous surprise visits. These are strangers!
What happened – at last after our awful wet summer Augusts turned hot – not African hot but pretty steamy by Yorkshire standards. Dad & George were working up in Mill Meadow. Mum asked if Id take them a jug of lemon barley – said it would please dad if I showed willing. Weve been in armed truce since I made it clear my plans hadnt changed – ie do a postgrad thesis instead of getting a paid job – or better still – a wellpaid husband – & settling down! But no reason not to show willing – plus it gave me an excuse to drive the quad – so off I went.
Forgot the mugs – but dad didnt say anything – just drank straight out of the jug like he preferred it – so maybe mum was right & he was pleased. In fact we were having a pleasant chat when suddenly old Fang let out a growl. Lost half his teeth & cant keep up with the sheep any more – but still manages a grand growl. Dad looked round to see what had woken him – & his face went into Headbanger configuration.
– whats yon daft bugger playing at? – he demanded.
Youll recall that in dads demography anyone living outside Willingden parish is a daft bugger till proved innocent. In this case I half agreed with him.
The