Will’s World: Harvest, and other ways to embarrass your daughters
© Lee Boswell Photography I’ve always wished I could be truly elite at something.
Imagine how it feels to stride to the crease at Lord’s and nonchalantly flick a 90mph fast ball over the boundary to the fervent applause of all in attendance.
Or bound out on stage with a guitar and some songs that you’ve written to perform to a stadium full of adoring fans.
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About the author
Even just being really good at something like cooking, writing or farming would be nice. Lamentably, I’m average at everything.
Or so I thought, because it turns out, much to my surprise and great delight, that I am truly magnificent at one thing. I’m talking Olympic level, top 0.01% in the world, crème de la crème here, and it’s a lesson to all of us that you should never give up on your dreams.
Yes, when it comes to embarrassing my numerous adolescent daughters, I’m not too modest to say that I’m the best of the best.
Cool response
Don’t think this is all down to natural talent, though, because I’ve had to put the hours in to get here.
Take the recent spell of hot weather, for example. I took to wearing, much to their collective horror, a bandana around my neck that I’d periodically soak in ice cold water.
Yes, I looked like a cowboy and a member of The Wurzels combined, but I didn’t care because it stopped me from overheating. Cool in both senses of the word, if you will.
It also turns out that arriving to pick them up from school in the farm truck with window down and the Venga Boys’ classic “We Like to Party” on full blast is deeply frowned upon and will result in the silent treatment for the duration of the journey home – who knew?
These were the exact words that our beautiful eldest daughter, the blessed child who made us the happiest people on earth on the day she was born, sent me on a text recently: “Pick me up at 4.30 please. Don’t come in.”
Perhaps I should have been hurt that she didn’t want me entering her place of work and mortifying her with my mere presence, but I only felt a deep sense of pride and satisfaction in a job well done.
I’m convinced I can go up another level still, but I’m saving that for when they start bringing boys home.
Notes from the cab
Luckily for them, however, I’ve been firmly ensconced in either a tractor or combine cab for the past few weeks, so I haven’t been able to get up to any mischief.
Instead, I’ve been doing what I usually do when I’m spending days at a time hermetically sealed in a glass box with only my wildly neurodiverse brain for company – overthinking.
Here’s some of the thoughts I’ve had.
- Why have the powers that be called it the “25-year Farming Roadmap?” Seems an odd thing to call something in the modern satellite age. What’s next, the Farming Encyclopaedia Britannica?
- If I was in charge, I’d make people who drop litter in the countryside listen to every episode of The Liz Truss Show podcast back-to-back as punishment. Guaranteed zero reoffending.
- What have they done to Cadbury’s Dairy Milk? It tastes like palm oil and childhood disappointment these days. Do the Americans have something to do with it? Wars have started over less.
- Should I grow a mullet to annoy the present Mrs Evans?
- I don’t know what machine seminal 90s grunge rock band, Rage Against the Machine, were raging about, but I bet it was a baler knotter.
I need to get out more.
