Monday 30 August 2010

Cock and bull stories

As Alison pointed out in her Comment yesterday, agricultural shows provide entertainment for all ages.

Where else would you see middle-aged men of a military bearing, dressed in dark suits, bowler hats and green wellingtons, running across a muddy field and carrying a clipboard? And wearing big red rosettes in their lapels, as though they were prize-winning sheep. Such a sight should be (and maybe was) the subject of a Monty Python sketch. Actually they are the Show Judges, or Vice-Presidents, or even Lord Lieutenants of somewhere or other, and they have the crucial vote in deciding who has the best plate of pickled gherkins and who is the best bitch in show in her first season and not exceeding 19 hands.

Then you can guarantee there will be a plethora of dogs and their owners,most of whom are barking. Some of are there for a legitimate purpose such as hareing across the field chasing a small piece of fur on a long elastic rope, but others seem to be there solely for the socializing. The latter seem to spend a lot of time yapping and trying to mount each other. And that's just the owners. The dogs are usually better behaved but their hair-styles are equally ludicrous.

Our family entered into the spirit of things with gusto, and our shepherd won lots of prizes and cups for his flock of Texels (despite my previous faux pas with the judges (http://profjohnb.blogspot.com/2010/07/stepping-in-it.html.), and the two older grandchildren, who had entered for more or less everything in the children's Art, Decorated Eggs, Miniature Gardens, Make-A-Crown and Vegetable Monsters line, guided by their granny, won £2 each at 50p. per prize. Our budding entrepreneur, aged 4, has decided that this will be his future career and he will live on his earnings from agricultural shows around the country, but since the various deformed vegetables and art materials, 'diamonds', silver foil and other bits and bobs cost about £25 it doesn't seem to me to be a viable proposition.

The beer tent always provides good entertainment, particularly towards closing time, when the farm lads who've been sinking the cider steadily for about 6 hours leave the tent and try to walk proudly through the mud in a stately fashion and in a straight line, burping periodically and trying to remember where the exit is and whether they'd brought a cow with them. "Oh, there you are, Jenny, Hic!". Jenny is not always best pleased, unless she'd been on the cider too.

Which reminds me of one of my favourite Agricultural Show stories:
The Lord Lieutenant's wife (see above) was inspecting the prize bulls, while his Lordship was with his mates ogling the barmaids in the beer-tent. The wife was very impressed by the champion bull's physique, and she could see from the size of his rosettes and his accoutrements that he was obviously kept for stud purposes. She asked the stockman how many times the bull could perform his duties in a year. "Oh I should think well over 400 Madam" he said.
Her eyes widened, "Really! Would you mind just popping over to the beer tent and telling that to my husband".
Five minutes later he was back "Excuse me madam, His Lordship sends his compliments and told me to ask you if its the same cow every time?"

2 comments:

  1. Yes, it's rotten being described as the same old cow...but then, if WE had a different bull every night things might be somewhat rosier from our point of view too ;-)

    I'm very good friends with our AI man (artificial inseminator) and for my rookie article with the local paper I offered to drive around with him for a day, to see how he fills his eight hours.

    When you've never been THAT close up to a cow, they are quite daunting...and when they pee on your suede boots, it's like Niagara. Only warm.

    He did ask me if I'd like to slip on the long rubber glove and stick my hand up the cow's bottom....but I declined.

    Poor cows, they have very little respect accorded to them.

    Ali x

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  2. When I lived in France, I was taken to witness, what could only be described as bovine rape. My friends father who owned the local farm, which had not changed much for centuries, took me to the animal lodgings below the house. He let one of the young bulls off the tether and it jumped round in the width of its stall, and jumped straight onto the cow who was tethered next door. He slid off after his job was finished (approximately 4 seconds) and was led back to his own stall without any of the aforementioned bravado. The farmer then led the cow out to eat some grass, small reward for her aquiescence.

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