A Typical Day in the West Country, As Imagined by My Siblings

Image by Francis Gunn on Unsplash


I wake up on Monday morning to the sound of various farm-animals that have somehow made their way into my back garden, which opens up to a large field containing crops (wheat, rapeseed etc – it’s not mine, it’s just that we all live on communal fields. This neck of the woods is just one big farm, you see. We share everything with each other!). Quacking ducks and mooing cows all join in together to rouse me from my slumber, a cacophony of barnyard melodies urging me to wake up and get the tractor going.

I wince as I stretch, the pain radiating through me after the weekend’s work of planting seeds and refilling cow feed. Though my muscles are aching and I was up quite late last night hanging out with my goats, Simon Pegg and Princess Anne (I’m 99% sure I bumped into her last week!), I am looking forward to today. The relentless rat-race doesn’t exist here, you see, despite the fact that we also have offices and shops and businesses like everywhere else, just less people to moan about it. I don’t spend my time scrolling through social media in the morning as we don’t really have internet here, we’re more of a Chinese-whispers and shout-into-the-wind kind of people. But I’m glad, because I’ll be darned if anyone forces me to adapt to whatever new app they’ve created in the land of ‘if you have a car, fuck off.’ Here, we are just farms and joy and labour; I like it this way.

I slip out of my pyjamas and into a pair of blue jeans, a flannel shirt, Barbour jacket, and wellies. You never know when you’ll accidentally step into a puddle, so I like to be prepared, though I’m honoured to have any bit of God’s own land on my person. I quickly grab some fresh eggs from the barn and dust off some onions and garlic, whipping up a hearty omelette bubbling with a mix of local cheeses to power me through the day ahead.

I remind myself to pick up some new springtime bits for my wardrobe; unfortunately, we don’t have Amazon Prime here. Someone mentioned same day delivery and I was like what? You don’t just have someone showing up weekly with a lorry and their wares? I imagine it must be exhausting having everything at your fingertips and then going insane when your confirmation email doesn’t arrive within a nanosecond, or when the new hipster coffee bar (the fifth in your town) is out of oat milk.

After washing my breakfast down with a sharp, bubbly cider, I quickly catch up on some rugby news and head outside for a quick view of the field before I set off for my actual job.

The fields are majestic, and the scarecrow seems to be giving me the side eye. I pretend not to see him, but I do spot Doris, a neighbour who lives two doors down from me. She always walks her border collie at this time, and at every time throughout the day. I seem to always see her walking around, doing nothing in particular but enjoying the fields.

‘Alright, my luvely?’ she shouts.

‘I’m alright Doris,’ I wave at her and shout back, ‘how’s yer morning? It’s an absolutely lush day today, isn’t et?’ I shield my eyes and peer up at the blue sky. She does the same.

‘Oh, it es! How’s the scab on yer back doing? Healed up, yet?’

‘Not yet, been giving me grief all night.’

‘Aw, you poor thing, I hear Sandra four doors down knows a nurse. She might be able to help you, give her a quick ring. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Come round for tea later, my Scott’s bringing a couple pheasants he shot last night.’

‘Oh go on then, I’ll pop round if I’m back in time! I’ll bring the butter (I made it myself).’

With Doris out of sight, I quickly look around and scurry around the corner to jump into my Defender. The tractors and goats seem to be having a lie-in today, which fortunately doesn’t put a dent in my twenty-minute ten-mile drive, so I whizz down the country roads until I reach the shrubbery I allocated myself two years ago. I get out and immediately hop into my RS 4, taking the scenic route to Cheltenham, because I actually work at –

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