May

Summer is coming now.  The oilseed rape is turning from yellow back to green.  The warmth is building.  The bunnies are proliferating. Sally the shepherd told me this morning that the sheep are to be sheared next week.  I’m way, way behind in my garden this year.  I have just two courgette plants in my raised vegetable bed and two tomato plants in the greenhouse.  I may already be too late to catch up.  There’s so much digging and weeding to do I really don’t know if I can be bothered.  I’d rather be up in the hills with the dogs.

Our latest favourite walk takes us around the base of Chalbury Rings hill fort.  Every morning we liven up a large flock of Sally’s sheep there.  I can be caught talking to the sheep most days.  I do an excellent impression of a horny old ram – horns on the head I mean!

A week or so ago, at the very height of its yellowness, we explored the top of the big central field in the valley that’s planted with rape.  This is where the deer can usually be seen sunning themselves.  I can actually see this very spot from my office window and frequently, immediately I get up in the morning, around 7.00am, there they are, a great start to the day.  When I think back to the various ghastly views from various office windows I’ve had over the years I realise how very, very lucky I am.

So there we were, right at the top, our whole world like a great blinding egg yolk of yellow.  The rape is a good three feet tall now so its difficult to spot any wildlife but stand completely still and you can hear rustling.  You can just see the tops of the rape twitching and then a head pops up, surprisingly close.  Next thing Carla and Capone have taken off and there’s rape twitching everywhere.  They return after a few minutes, bedraggled and messy, “What’s next Dad?”

I hear that the local coven has been up to its tricks again, toiling over its cauldron, spreading gossip, exaggerating rumour, sometimes creating spells and stories out of thin air.  This time it’s not me and my “killer” dogs. It’s my neighbour, the landlord of the pub.  He had the audacity to put up a marquee in his own garden and within moments the telephone lines were humming.  I’d been away on business for three or four days but within half an hour of returning, I was being told that “he’s bought his own now” and “it’s going to be up all summer”.

Next thing Richard gets a call from the council.  You see the witches and the scolds can’t be direct.  They can only be snide and underhand.  They can’t talk to your face.  They complain behind your back.  What a shame we don’t have a ducking stool on the pond!

If this column can do anything to shatter cliques, expose snide, unneighbourly behaviour, lies or malicious gossip, then I consider it my civic duty to do so.

It’s with mixed feelings that I look towards the height of summer.  Firstly, let’s hope it’s not another disappointment this year.  The one thing that you can completely rely on is that the traffic will be diabolical.  For me, I’ll be off into the hills with the dogs to find a quiet corner where I can sit still, wait and listen.  Then a remarkable world comes to life all around you and nothing else matters.