the farmers wife

The farmers wife is cleaning

that will come as no surprise

the mess caused by the farmer

doesn't register in his eyes

the tramping of clarty boots

that should be left outside

walks the recent hovered rug

with arrogance and pride

each day the constant battle

to separate and retain

a sanctum of tranquillity

far from the farms' domain

she logs in all the income

a piffling small amount

notes in horror the outgoings

from the farm account

she visits the local surgery

in confidence to discuss

a malfunction of some organ

but doesn't make a fuss

a phone call to the daughter

listening to her woe

of the city life an mounting debt

a wrong time to let her know

it's lambing and she is needed

her hands petite and thin

to grab the legs and shift the head

of lambs stuck within

she wonders if they will notice

the passing of her life

and can the farm continue

without the farmers wife

a day at the mart

Hill Farmer George in a rush

Stopped to say hello

"Nice to see you crofter

But I really have to go

Lambs in the auction mart

I seem to have some luck

But there is a line of creditors

That I will have to duck

.

The corn merchant is first in line

A man I really hate

Only half the certified seed

Managed to germinate

For the agricultural mechanic

The payment's in the mail

Machines that work fine all year

But at harvest time they fail

.

I must avoid the agrochemical rep

With his weed free land proposal

All the chemicals are now dangerous

And I pay for their disposal

Pass my regards as you pass

To the man from the ministry

That pay corporate landowners

And gives bugger all to me

.

"You’ll be off to the bank manager

To deposit before withdrawal?"

"He’s the one I try to avoid

The biggest crook of all

He extends the overdraft

When things are all plain sailing

Then doubles the interest rate

To keep me on the cusp of failing"

.

Off to the mart canteen

To enjoy a well earned snack

To buy a bacon sandwich

With Danish on the back

Every where I look

I see food that’s been imported

Poor farmer George will stay poor

Till cheap imports have been sorted

for you my son

lying on his deathbed
he calls for his son
I leave everything to you
you know what must be done
the son looked fondly at his dad
not knowing what to say
from now life would be serious
gone are days of play

gone are the fleeting windows
when you are debt free
gone are the days so idle
of leisure activity
gone are days of fancy cars
and friends that call for tea
to live life like a hermit
in abject poverty

he didn't much like livestock
cows, sheep or horse
so why can't he just sell up
or turn into a golf course
he hears the young lamb bleating
a bottle must be due
a cow is stuck in calving
that needs help to pull through

there is poultry at the back door
trying to get in
the seed corn is delivered
so ploughing must begin
he knows now the carefree youth
and money has sadly gone
scrabbling in the boot rack
to put his wellies on

Halloween hotel

Driving on a country road

on all hallows night

the darkest cloud came overhead

blocking out the light

the rain it fell in torrents

with lightning and thunder roar

up ahead a welcome sign

above a hotel door

I booked into a single room

it had an eerie smell

it hadn't been used for many years

as far as I could tell

but it was just for one night

what trouble could there be

unlike the violence of the city

from drug crazed humanity

outside the creatures of the night

gave out their mournful cry

as I reached for a bath towel

for my face and hair to dry

then all the lights went out

and darkness did befall

I pulled back the curtains

to let the moon light up the wall

in the eerie moonlight glow

strange shadows I could see

as it a flock of evil bats

were coming after me

a howling of a large dog

a horseman galloping by

soft muffled whispering

laboured fearful sigh

there was tapping at my window

a rattling of the door

ghostly bat like shadows

fluttering on the floor

beneath the wooden entrance door

a light begun to glow

and foot steps on the landing stairs

whom I did not know

then came the tapping on the door

the rattling of the key

the door creaking started to open

slowly in front of me

the night porter stood there

an oil lamp in his hand

he said there was a power cut

some lighting would be grand

the kitchen has an old coal range

and it has been lit

so there will be some hot food to have

if you could wait a bit

I thanked him most profusely

and as he closed the door

I noticed he made no shadow

to fall upon the floor

serfvice

I've waited and I've waited

for the parcel due

so phoned customer services

as advised to do

listening to music that once

had a tune or two

I've pressed all the buttons

that they told me to




so I sent them an email

about the serfvice that they lack

and promptly I received a email

in capitals and black

thanking me for the email

Although my spelling was slack

there is no F in service

they sent back to me

precisely that's my complaint

on that we can agree

Dragnet - the crofter

Ladies and gentlemen, the story you are about to read is true, the names have been altered to protect the stupid.

This is the croft one of the most derelict in Northumberland. 

To the North, is a row of poorly maintained fencing. To the east goat shelters. To the South, unbroken views of a midden, and to the West a heap of broken-down agricultural equipment. This is a goat farm, just like any other small holding or croft. I'm here with George from Environmental health, and Sam from DEFRA, this is a desperate place, like many struggling dairy farms, a powder keg of bottled frustrations. I am here to keep order. My name is Friday and I'm a cop.

The office sent me to escort the two inspectors, that clearly think something is amiss. If they find anything untoward there could be trouble. The suspicions have been raised because the croft does not receive a grant of any kind from the government. It is too small to supply supermarkets or big shops. They have no machinery, no tractors, and no agricultural rep calling to sell out of date seeds and fertiliser. They are clearly up to no good.

A shambling man approaches dressed in old (very old) clothes and wearing Wellington Boots, a fashion statement in these parts. He smiles and seems cheery. I can spot the danger signs. No one in their predicament would smile (ever).

“Hello, what can I do for you gents?”

He is more devious than I expected, he was still smiling when we showed our identity tags.

“I would like to see your Holding register” said Sam

“ And I demand to see your risk assessment and procedures” Demanded George.

“ And why not,” smiled the crofter “ come this way to the office.”

I made sure he led the way as I could see what looked like an Opinel knife in his pocket. I would not like him to get behind us near the septic tank, he looked like he knew how to use one.

The office was a corner of the hallway constructed out of cardboard boxes. The desk two upturned tea chests with a scaffold plank between them. On the desk top was a typewriter, (old, well used).

“Do you have a computer?” asked George

he shook his head

“Printer?”

he shook his head

“Mobile phone?”

He pointed to a wall mounted Bakelite telephone.

“No signal, not worth it.” he said

“How do you keep copies, receipts, or files “ asked George

“Carbon, got boxes of the stuff as no one uses it anymore, I can now afford it.”

“ Can I see your holding register ?” said Sam

they both bombarded the crofter with questions about procedures etc. so I left them to it to take a look around.

Standing apart from the rest of the goat sheds was a structure made of old railway sleepers driven in with stout iron poles. The structure was about 3 metres high and fenced like fort Knox. A sign on what looked like a door said “Buck house”. I didn't go any closer as there was an awful smell coming from it.

I entered the goat shed. The noise was deafening. All the goats were calling out as if pleased to see me. All the goats were fat, and none had discernible udders. I knew what an udder looked like. I was shown a picture of one at the briefing. I walked the aisle patting the goats and looking for an udder. There were no udders of milk.

The Byre door opened and the crofter entered followed by Sam.

“Some ear tags are missing.” said Sam

The crofter brandished the ear tagging machine with red tags.

“Help yer self.” said the crofter “They are a bit wild like, when they see the tagger”

Sam shook his head “ If you promise to re tag them, and let me know when you have done it. It will be fine.”

“I am curious,” I said “ how much do you earn, crofting, selling milk and the like?”

“I think I am about the national average for a crofter. That is a 90 hour week for minus £11 a year. If I manage to work 20 hours a day I could break even in 5 years, but then I would not have time to complete the paperwork required by DEFRA and Environmental health. You have to stick with in the law until you are bankrupt. It's government policy.”

“I see .”I said “Why do you not have milk, this is a dairy, and I have been tasked to check where all the milk has gone.”

“ You see that castle structure over there, Buckingham Palace, That is where the King lives. The Mighty Mikey (Houdini) lives in there, separate from the milkers. He keeps on escaping. And has mated everything, including the collie. If you need to redo your shoe laces, I would wait until you are off the property. It's not safe to bend down.”

A loud thumping sound came from Buck House, where the Mighty Mikey was trying to batter his way out. It was obviously time to go, and quickly.

From outside the fence I asked “What are you doing now you are not milking?”

“Filling in forms for your two associates, It should keep me busy until kidding. Mind you it has made my business case look a bit shaky, I doubt if I will break even in 2087 like I planned.”

I returned to the station, mission accomplished, and glad I am only keeping the streets safe, not trying to feed the population.

Being British

The easiest way to prove you are British is with a Passport. To obtain a passport requires patience. Patience is the art of being British.


HOW TO APPLY FOR A PASSPORT


A form can be obtained from your local passport office. (LOCAL), is a term used by the Passport office to mean a facility or building up to 120 miles from your home. Nearby denotes a facility from 250 to 600 miles i.e. Inverness is nearby London. Most big cities will have a passport office, so if you live outside London the passport office is nearby i.e. London. Although London is well served with an office, city dwellers don't need to use it, as a cheapish passport can be obtained from most street vendors, in what ever name you are currently using. ON LINE You can go online to obtain a form and fill in the details. Most form applications cost around £300.00 from the search engine top hits. If you press next to around page 64 you will find the UK Government passport application page. It is free to apply for a form but the passport will obviously cost, and not just time. The government web page should only crash half a dozen times during your time on line but could be more during busy periods i.e. daylight hours 365 days a year. Frustrated with the online experience and with a new Nigerian General as a friend, you could try the post office.


APPLICATION THROUGH THE POST OFFICE


The Post Office supplies a local service to its customers. A local post office can normally be reached within a return distance of 50 miles. Not all Post offices are equipped to handle passport applications but all have the application forms. The forms are not available in a convenient rack where any toe rag can access them. You have to prove you are serious in wanting an application, which can only be accessed through one of the counter staff. The counter staff are protected from the public by a grill there is a space below to slide money under. Money, is not small change, but notes. To ensure the cashier can receive them correctly they should be pushed through one at a time the grill is too low for a finger to fit under, so great care must be taken. To ensure you can complete this manoeuvre to a satisfactory standard you can practice page feeding a Hewlett Packard printer, the frustration achieved, can be vented in the comfort of your own home, not at the Post Office counter.


PROOF OF IDENTITY A passport proves you are you. It will have a photograph of you in it. So you need to get a passport photograph. A passport photograph can be obtain from a handy coin operated kiosk normally situated in a local large supermarket or shopping arcade. The large supermarket is known as local if it located within an eighty mile return journey. The term convenient (which it obviously isn't) is for a supermarket in excess of an eighty mile return trip. You can not pre-book the photograph kiosk so have to make the journey on the off chance that it is working, switched on, and not in use as an illegal drugs dispensary by the resident collectors of Anti Social Behaviour Orders. On that extremely rare occasion that you do get to use the kiosk for the purpose intended, you must not smile. This should not be difficult, as until now you would have have nothing to smile about. Wearing sombre clothing and not smiling you should look like a police photo-fit picture on the police most wanted list. On the plus side people that know you would never recognise you from the picture, However you have to persuade them that Al Capone, is really you, and they should sign the photograph stating it is a true likeness, or they will wake in the morning, with the severed head of their favourite pet.


THE RETURNED PASSPORT


if you have completed the procedure correctly, submitted the appropriate forms in good time your passport should arrive by post a few weeks after the planned flight. On rare occasions it will arrive prior to your intended journey, by minutes. Being totally stressed out, when starting your holiday, means that nothing further on the holiday can upset you. Staying next to a building site or staying the same week as two stag parties and four hen nights will be we within your updated comfort zone.


There are of course forgeries, but you can always tell a true Brit. They will be the ones with a black expired UK passport. Being British they can not be bothered with the replacement procedure. They will not be able to travel abroad, but are content to soak up the fleeting sun on Cambois beach in waterproof clothing. Although still in the UK they will have the British tea bag in an inside pocket or handbag. That is truly being British!