Post by julia on Jul 18, 2004 2:35:07 GMT -2
Today, I was planning to be setting up my new notebook... erm.. notebeuk. My wee Jamie had nicked my car on this beautiful day, so I knew I'd have the house to myself. Peace at last. I was working on getting the new network up and running, when I heard a rumble and a 'halloooo' at the back door. 
I sat still, hoping the body attached to the voice would go away. It didn't.
The voice belonged to the old farmer, grumbling, and rumbling. I was aware of this large man moving slowly through my wee house like a large, irritated ruminant, calling 'Julia... Julia.....', calling my name, his voice heavy with woe. He described his predicament. I put aside the wee computer and met him in the hall.
Within minutes, I was driving the red Jeep over the old dirt farm road, on my way to the fields to help him out.
They don't write folk songs about people like us, gals from Kensington with proper RP accents. If someone did write such a song, what would it be about? The 'I'm Feeling Too Good Today Blues'? The 'Escape from W8'? It's remarkable how useless we are. I was taught to ride horses -- beautifully -- but no one ever taught me to do anything useful, like driving a tractor.
For reasons I haven't the fortitude to describe -- Americans are all as mad as snakes -- the old farmer needed me to drive his big old John Deere. And if that wasn't bad enough, he had some machine attached on behind -- which was the reason I was driving the tractor back and forth over the brushland bordering his fields. So here I was, driving this enormous thing, when the big mower seized up. (I knew something was banjaxed when the mower began to make sounds curiously similar to those the old farmer made when he entered my house.)
I stopped the tractor and mower, just as the farmer started running over yelling and waving his arms. I slithered under the mower (after pulling the ignition wires so nothing would start by mistake and cut me to bits) to see what got caught up. Something had.
It was a power cable. The local power authority had replaced the cable, and, instead of removing the old cable, they simply dropped the old cable in the brush. When the mower ran over it, that cable got caught up and twisted itself round the parts of the mower, catching and twisting along with it the brush, weeds, vines -- some of it poison ivy -- the mower was supposed to cut.
And so, this fine lady from Kensington, spent three hours under the mower-tractor, on her back in the dirt, serving as a dinner for ants and mosquitoes, whilst chopping, hacking, sawing, and pulling away at the tangles of cables and weeds. Over three hours it took, until she got the blades rotating properly and freely. Then, she climbed back onto the tractor and, totally filthy, finished mowing the brush. Tomorrow, I'm attaching some other big thingy to the John Deere, and turning the soil under.
And to think there are those who are convinced I'm a snob.
Ha! Now, I drive a tractor. Snobs don't drive tractors. I'm the wee girl with the impossible accent, dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, driving the tractor.
I'm chuffed!
My wee house is quiet. Time for me to get back to the network.
I hope my story brought smiles.
Julia, wishing she had a team of Clydesdales
I sat still, hoping the body attached to the voice would go away. It didn't. The voice belonged to the old farmer, grumbling, and rumbling.
I was aware of this large man moving slowly through my wee house like a large, irritated ruminant, calling 'Julia... Julia.....', calling my name, his voice heavy with woe. He described his predicament. I put aside the wee computer and met him in the hall. Within minutes, I was driving the red Jeep over the old dirt farm road, on my way to the fields to help him out.
They don't write folk songs about people like us, gals from Kensington with proper RP accents. If someone did write such a song, what would it be about? The 'I'm Feeling Too Good Today Blues'? The 'Escape from W8'? It's remarkable how useless we are. I was taught to ride horses -- beautifully -- but no one ever taught me to do anything useful, like driving a tractor.
For reasons I haven't the fortitude to describe -- Americans are all as mad as snakes -- the old farmer needed me to drive his big old John Deere. And if that wasn't bad enough, he had some machine attached on behind -- which was the reason I was driving the tractor back and forth over the brushland bordering his fields. So here I was, driving this enormous thing, when the big mower seized up. (I knew something was banjaxed when the mower began to make sounds curiously similar to those the old farmer made when he entered my house.)
I stopped the tractor and mower, just as the farmer started running over yelling and waving his arms. I slithered under the mower (after pulling the ignition wires so nothing would start by mistake and cut me to bits) to see what got caught up. Something had.
It was a power cable. The local power authority had replaced the cable, and, instead of removing the old cable, they simply dropped the old cable in the brush. When the mower ran over it, that cable got caught up and twisted itself round the parts of the mower, catching and twisting along with it the brush, weeds, vines -- some of it poison ivy -- the mower was supposed to cut.
And so, this fine lady from Kensington, spent three hours under the mower-tractor, on her back in the dirt, serving as a dinner for ants and mosquitoes, whilst chopping, hacking, sawing, and pulling away at the tangles of cables and weeds. Over three hours it took, until she got the blades rotating properly and freely. Then, she climbed back onto the tractor and, totally filthy, finished mowing the brush. Tomorrow, I'm attaching some other big thingy to the John Deere, and turning the soil under.
And to think there are those who are convinced I'm a snob.
Ha! Now, I drive a tractor. Snobs don't drive tractors. I'm the wee girl with the impossible accent, dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, driving the tractor. I'm chuffed!
My wee house is quiet. Time for me to get back to the network.
I hope my story brought smiles.
Julia, wishing she had a team of Clydesdales
