There are only a few drawbacks to living in the countryside-compared to the harsh lot of the urban dweller but one is very evident at this time of year compounded by the excesses of the BBC Weather people with their smart suits and highly polished leather shoes. I am assuming the footwear but I am not sure that I have ever seen that far south on a presenter. They could be wearing sneakers but if so they will not be muddy. Not unless threy were broadcasting from the studios of the HTT. Mud is the
heavy motif of February in the sticks. 'Mud Mud Glorious mud nothing quite like it for getting all over the Kitchen floor' Flanders and Swann would have sung had they ever left Islington. The most active and streetwise African Hippo would not last a week in the Merse-not just the untropical
dreich but the sheer volume of the Glut sucking you down with each step seeming to be your last. To get past the village hall is now a major exercise in mudmanship survival skills and I am sure future archaeologists will dredge up a skeleton or two-although as far as I know the work force has not reported a missing person as yet-and with only four of them you would think that an absentee would be noticed fairly quickly. Even lovely Hutton Hill towering over the northern approaches is not the pleasant walk it used to be-muddy and dungy-good for the long term soil's health, they say, but the combination is so glutinous that it can suck the wellies off your feet leaving you tip toeing and not through the daisies. To paraphrase that great Australian Cricket sledging song :
Ashes to Ashes,Dust to Dust.If the mud don't get you,The Slurry must.Images will follow but not for the timid. Urban bloggees stay where you are until the lambs are in the post gambol stage. Huttonian will advise you when it is safe to come out.
