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. Read more

