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Chelsea Tractors and Wind turbines

Firstly, I'm going to have a rant about Chelsea Tractors, otherwise known as posh four-wheeled drive vehicles. Farmers use them - predominantly Land Rovers. They aren't green, but they serve a function. They drive over fields and tow trailers full of turnips. Now the Chelsea Tractors are not entirely dissimilar.They drive past fields, and are driven by turnips. The farmer often has his son/brother/sheepdog in there with him. That's a good thing. Shared occupancy equals greener credentials. The driver of the Chelsea  (Hummer, Shogun, BMW oil guzzler or whatever) is a loner. Usually named Ursula or Peter (never Pete). The only time Ursula shares Chelsea is for the 3 minutes it takes to deliver little Jocasta and Jonty from the gravel driveway and Farrow and Ball painted gates of her country retreat to the primary school. I've seen this.

"OOH!" I hear you cry -"Simon, you live in an affluent area, why the nasty swiping tone of voice?" Well readers, it's like this. yes I do live in an affluent area, but I'm not posh at all. Or jealous. I don't have a jealous bone in my body. Our home is....how best to describe?.... maturing perhaps, maybe even approaching retirement, and our life (not " lifestyle" please) a chaotic melange of clutter, frantic work and well obviously and blatantly doing bugger all. So you see, we have a difference of everything with Ursula and Peter. Peter is the type who has downsized, fled the heady rush of THE CAPITAL (I shudder to even think the name) and bought the former farmhouse ( 7 acres, lake, outbuildings, Contact Snobbe & Wax-Jackett for details, viewings at owner's discretion) on the edge of the hamlet. Does Peter want country life? OF COURSE HE DOES YOU FOOL!  Does Peter want to integrate? NO, NO, NO, of course not. That would mean talking to LOCALS and folk from THE NORTH. God forbid that the people who own the Citroen (more about this fine vehicle later) should accidentally cross my path as I exercise the Labrador on the coastal path. they may enquire where I purchased my waxed hat. It's NOT a Stetson pastiche, it's a very English gent's item of head wear - thank you.

Frankly, I don't give a shit about Pete's (sorry Peter's) titfer, his Aquascutum underpants or his Fortnum and Mason selection of fine Scottish preserves. It's the bloody vehicle that rankles. It's too big for these little lanes. It's passenger seat is as empty as your lantern-jawed head. It does 5 miles to the gallon you stiff upper lipped Harris Tweed wearing gimp. That's better, feeling calmer now.

Anyway, some good news this week. The Council have given the go ahead for the erection (stop laughing) of our very own community wind turbines. Common sense has prevailed and the insular clueless have been reduced to mumbling old grumpies, Hail the arrival of alternative energy to our little community!!!!!!

Finally, Citroen are making the best cars right now. It's a fact. They were recently voted the best in class by readers of " Sheepdog trials on a Budget" bi-monthly (A Marshall & Cavendish publication). Nice people own them. People who buy locally, support live music -Don't get me started on DJ's), and love cats. ALL Chelsea drivers shop at Waitrose, like anything that comes out of the mouth of DJ Shadow or Lisa Lashes (Look, I may be a middle aged frump, but I know my sludge-core from my skiffle...alright?!) and they DO shop at The Body Shop now because L'oreal own it. It's a funny old world. This blog has been brought to you by Gitt and Toffinose, purveyors of the worlds finest foie gras and galoshes - which probably taste the same. How should I know coming from THE NORTH.

Ps. To all of you dear devoted readers based in Vietnam & Japan, The north of England is the area where people are steeped in the milk of human kindness, will give you their last penny and the south east is where everything is crap.  That's set the cat amongst the pigeons. Letters to: Mouthy Working Class Northerner please. And (and I begin the sentence incorrectly) the North brews the best ale.

Comments

Anyone who knows Sime, will know to take this post with a pinch of salt... Before we get attacked & told to "f*** off back up north then" I would like to point out - that we do have some lovely friends from south east England & they are nothing like the above!!!

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Nettles

Our garden yesterday.
Tall Nettles TALL nettles cover up, as they have done These many springs, the rusty harrow, the plough Long worn out, and the roller made of stone: Only the elm butt tops the nettles now.
This corner of the farmyard I like most: As well as any bloom upon a flower I like the dust on the nettles, never lost Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.
~ Edward Thomas ~
Every time we venture out to pick nettles, Sime always goes on about this poem!

Anyway, thought I'd share with you the article I've written for next month's Parish Magazine...


Our hedgerows are coming alive with food aplenty, but hardly anyone really notices the nettles that surround us, they grow quietly while using their juices to produce a medicine that can bring health. Anaemia, arthritis, rickets, tuberculosis, respiratory diseases, colds, catarrh & lymphatic problems can all benefit from this wonderful wild & free super food.
Nettles are rich in calcium, iron, phosphorus, potass…