Elizabeth Elder: The BBC and a load of rubbish

January began with Jake talking rubbish on BBC1.

Actually, he was talking about our rubbish, and other people’s in the area, which hadn’t been collected for six weeks – mainly due to the bad weather. The local news programme had, as it were, got wind of this and launched an investigation.

The reporter told Jake that she had rung the council at noon asking for a comment, which seemed to prompt an emergency bin collection. By 2.30pm a crack team had been sent to the problem areas to take away all the black bin bags that had been stacked at the roadside, so by the time the TV crew arrived in Otterburn there wasn’t much to see.

The TV people seem to have cruised around the area looking for rubbish and finally followed their noses to our house. Unfortunately for the council, the SWAT team of binmen had failed to empty our actual bins and the contents plumped up nicely for the camera.

Jake gave a perfectly pleasant interview, noting in a very reasonable way that we do pay our council tax, just like everyone else. The next day the binmen returned on another unscheduled visit and finally removed the now festering rubbish. Result.

A lot of people like to moan about the BBC. In fact some of my best friends have been known to complain about a range of things including: the dumbing down of and reduction in its horse racing coverage; the lack of anything worth watching most evenings; Radio 5 live (between Breakfast and Drive); and of course, institutionalised metropolitan, left-wing, vegetarian bias in news and current affairs.

I will have none of this – the BBC is fantastic. By getting our bins emptied, the BBC has proved that it truly is a public service broadcaster. Although to be honest, a reduction in interviews with EastEnders actors at the Derby and fashion experts at Royal Ascot wouldn’t go amiss.

We are gradually getting back to normal after the bad weather, Christmas and disturbed sleeping patterns caused by listening to the Ashes through most of the night.

There was something very comforting about listening to Test Match Special from under the duvet in a semi-doze – especially when England were winning. To top it off for farming cricket fans, that nice Alastair Cook has come straight home to help with the lambing. What a guy.

Getting back to normal has also involved clearing a backlog of mundane, but essential, tasks. One of these is the disposal of a large amount of glass after New Year. It is surprising how those coffee jars and juice bottles mount up.

The council does not take away glass, so we have to make a special trip to a recycling centre, and we always head to the most capacious bottle bank in the area – ironically situated opposite the Methodist Church in the dry village of Scots Gap. As good citizens we always try to dispose of bottles quietly if there is a service on.

As we hadn’t been out much for some time, we have all been in need of haircuts, but only Jake has got round to it. He went to that well known centre for male grooming, Hexham Mart. The style is best described as value for money – Jake’s hair is now very short and it will be a long time before it needs cutting again. Judging by the technique applied to Jake, it wouldn’t surprise me if the barber also does belly clipping of hoggs on the side.

As Archie has gone back to school, I am now feeding his hens during the week. Their house looked like an igloo at times, but they came through the snow very well. They have also been laying very well, so we have had plenty of scrambled eggs.

But one of the greatest pleasures of returning to normality has been starting to use the car again after several weeks confined to the farm Land Rover, with its unique scent. This is a heady mixture of sheepdogs and muck, with a hint of composting wool.

I know the Land Rover is an iconic British design, but driving it is such an effort and it takes so long to go anywhere. It only seems to go above 50mph while travelling downhill with a following wind, and even then the engine sounds so strained that you think you might be charged with cruelty if you continue pressing the accelerator.

I also hate the fact that every time a small stone is thrown up by the wheels it sounds like a bullet hitting a tin can. This is a particular problem on the range roads, where the constant rat-tat-tat makes it feels like you’re travelling under fire. Of course driving on the range roads there is always the possibility that we actually are travelling under fire.

The one drawback of the car is that you do tend to feel the potholes in the road more. There is now a particularly bad one on the road down to the village, which I seem to hit every morning when I take the children to the bus.

Maybe I’d better get on to the BBC about that.