A horny ram. Image by Donald Mcleod
This is an article I wrote a while back to apply for a job as a columnist. I didn’t get the job and I always feel a bit bummed out when I’ve worked hard on something that has, ultimately, lead to nothing. But such is the life of a wannabe writer. Sigh. Time to pick myself up, dust myself down and keep on at it. At least you guys now get to read it. Enjoy!
If I was a sheep mommy or daddy, I’d be locking up my daughters about now. It’s tupping time - the season for some serious sheep lovin’. As we are eagerly opening the first doors on our advent calendars, sheep are out having a total boink fest. Rams are off smearing their raddle on the fleece of many a ewe. And that is not a ewe-phemism.
Good for them.
You may be wondering how I have such knowledge of sheep mating rituals. Maybe I’m a thwarted sheep farmer or maybe I have some weird fetish. The latter is the closest description, though fear not, I do not get aroused by the sight of ovine carnal activity. The site of Matt Baker paddling a kayak along the Thames is an all together different matter. Yes, I have a problem. I am a Countryphile.
Sunday night TV has always been my dirty little secret. I’m going to whisper this because all my liberal hipster buddies might overhear and I’ll lose my hard-earned cool points (quelle beast): I really love Antiques Roadshow, Last of the Summer Wine and even *gulp* Songs of Praise. Most of all I love Country File. These are TV programmes that I don’t really understand, they offer nothing I can possibly relate to. The most valuable thing I own is a copy of the 1976 Jackie Annual (Bay City Rollers! LOL!), I’ve never slid down a dale in a tin bath, I don’t believe in god and I’m mostly scared of this thing that people in fleece jackets enthusiastically refer to as ‘nature’. Herein lies the answer – this is escapism TV, as much a work of fantasy as that planet with all the blue people in Avatar.
Countryfile has everything – thrills and spills in the form of pot-holing or gorge walking, sweeping cinematography of stuff like trees and hills, the frissons of unresolved sexual tension between Julia Bradbury and Matt Baker and John Craven wearing a jumper or kagoul depending on the weather. Then there’s “Adam’s Farm”; a weekly installment about a bloke called Adam and his farm. No shocks, no surprises. Just lots of grass, trees, people wearing flat caps/waterproofs/tweed and cute animals.
The show occasionally attempts to be hard-hitting with ‘John Craven Investigates’; a segment in which everyone’s favourite cuddly newshound goes and investigates serious rural issues like Dutch Elm Disease or something equally disturbing. I say “hard-hitting”. I actually mean mildly interesting-ish. Remember that Craven created Newsround, a programme the regularly ends with pictures of baby elephants frolicking in a zoo.
Countryfile awakens my sloaney, rosy cheeked Aga fantasy; the one where I own a Land Rover and have a Golden Retriever called Winston.
After the credits have rolled I am left to face the harsh reality of my pallid complexion, ineffectual electric oven, bus pass and the weird ginger tom-cat who gives me evils every time I leave the flat.