Why I hate the countryside

January 22, 2011

I have been away. In the countryside. It was hell. Trust me, I’m in advertising. Well, I used to be. Here are 10 reasons why:

1. Beams

Not beams of sunlight, or moonbeams. They are fine, except when the moon versions come through the window and wake me up, which they tend to do in the country. No, I mean those wooden things that houses in the country are full of.  I’m 6 foot 2, at least when I stand up straight. I am always banging my head on them, and the padding, that leather stuff that cottage owners thoughtfully put up, doesn’t help, except by limiting the bruising a bit. I always come home from a weekend away with a bump on my forehead.

2. Cows

Did you know that cows produce more greenhouse gases than we do? No wonder the planet is suffering. And then there’s all that bloody mooing when they want milking. And they are big buggers. And yes, I did get chased by one when I was a kid. And yes, it was mooing.

3. Driving

One of the biggest problems with the country is getting there. I mean, if you could get teleported there, like in Star Trek, it wouldn’t be so bad,  but no, you have to get in a car and sit in a traffic jam for four hours on a Friday night, and then do the same again on a Sunday evening, or Monday morning if you’ve had a few for lunch. And you pull into a ‘service area’…don’t get me started…

4. Sunday evenings

So even if you have got through the traffic, and not bumped your head too badly, and dodged the cows, and not been kept awake by mooonbeams, and had a perfectly nice Sunday lunch (just for balance,  that’s one of the good bits), there’s Sunday evening to get through.

Either you are driving again (see above…enough said), or you are sitting around watching tosh, wondering why your hosts are so dull and what you ever thought was interesting about them.

And worst of all, knowing that you’ve told all your best stories and offered all your amusing opinions, and they are vprobably wondering the same about you.

5. Golf

Oh, Jesus Mother and Mary, as my nan used to say. Golf. Hitting a little white ball round a bunch of perfectly manicured lawns. Competitively. Still, at least it provides a break to the talking.

6. Snow

Snow is perfectly nice for the first hour or so. The cows stop mooing. The silence is lovely. The world slowly changes, dissolving into whiteness. And then it stops.  And so does everything else.  Completely. And you’re stuck, with people who bored you the day before yesterday, until the day after tomorrow.

7. Drinks

Well, drink is what it is, and you can’t fault country folk for liking a glass or two, what with the cows, and the snow, and the beams (although you may notice they are often smaller than us townies). But if you have to drive back on Sunday afternoon, and you can’t have a drink at lunch, you have to listen to them getting pissed and  gradually reverting to nasty racist type.

They don’t talk  about the ‘bloody blacks’ any more, because they go on about the Polacks scrounging in whatever God-forsaken little town is just up the road. Never mind that they have all gone back, after rebuilding the bloody country over the last decade or so. When did a little fact ever get in the way of a racist fantasy?

8, 9, 10 The others

See above. Moonbeams and so on… thank God for London, that’s what I say.


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