Will’s World: A grounding journey from folk to fields

All my life, I’ve considered myself a bit odd. Those who know me well will doubtless be nodding their heads in fervent agreement at this.

But I’m not talking about my nerdish adoration of Star Wars, my mild obsession with anything Second World War related, or the fact that I wholeheartedly believe Wales will win the Rugby World Cup within my lifetime.

Instead, I’m talking about social anxiety, which is something I’ve struggled with, to varying degrees, since I was a teenager.

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Of course, it didn’t have a snappy title back then, and at best I would have been referred to as “a bit shy”, at worst “an absolute weirdo”.

Anyway, that’s certainly what I believed myself to be when I experienced mild panic attacks if I was trapped in anything vaguely resembling a crowd.

Alone together

I do wonder if other farmers experience anything like this, given how much of our collective time is spent alone, or in very small teams.

I’d be interested to know if this was the case, and I suspect a far higher percentage of our community would suffer with it compared with the rest of the population.

It’s not as if I can’t socialise, or be around people, because I can, and often really enjoy it.

Heck, if I’m on my own too much I even get lonely and crave being around others. It’s just that I have a very limited social battery.

It’s never a reflection of those who I’m around, either, because they’re often the people I love most in the world. It’s just that when I’ve had enough, I’ve had enough.

One of the good things about getting older, though, is you tend to stop beating yourself up over your imperfections, and in recent years I’ve learned to accept that it’s just part of who I am.

So if you happen to see me out and about at an agricultural event this year, and I’m either trying to melt into the background or walking briskly towards the exit while staring dead ahead, you’ll know the reason why.

Mouse trap

I’m mentioning this now because I’ve just spent a long weekend on a rugby tour to Paris with the youngest of my numerous daughters, her under-11s team and supporters.

A coach load of us left Wrexham Rugby Club on Thursday night and got home four days later, having had the most wonderfully uproarious time together.

I did mostly manage to keep my anxiety in check, though I came exceedingly close to freaking out when we inadvertently got trapped in a multitude during closing time at Euro Disney.

I can see the headlines now: “Welshman punches Mickey Mouse in frantic bid to escape mob.” Thankfully it didn’t quite come to that.

I’ve spent the past few days recuperating by doing some fencing repairs on my own, which in the sunny spell we’re currently having has been a balm to the soul.

The teenagers have gone off to market with the old man in a very unsubtle attempt to spot similarly aged farm boys, God help the poor souls, and the present Mrs Evans has returned to work, so I’ve enjoyed some peaceful solitude.

Until, that is, I spotted an empty Coke bottle lying next to the one and only public footpath we have on the farm.

Not only had some *insert appropriately harsh insult here* thrown it on the ground, but many others must have walked straight past it without bothering to pick it up.

I do try hard to like people, but sometimes people make it hard to like them.