Sheep-shaggers, Bell-ringers, And angry chipolatas. My observations on working in the countryside.

Sheep-shaggers, Bell-ringers, And angry chipolatas. My observations on working in the countryside.

Dear god! If it wasn’t for the fact I was ticking over nicely, I would be tempted to run naked down the street just to break the monotony. I am bored to tears here in the country, or kuntrey as the irish pronounce it. There is something seriously off about people from the country, no matter where the country side is located, they just don’t operate by the normal set of rules the rest of us are used to.

Why is it they go out of their way to sound as daft as possible? I mean anyone who takes that long to ask a question, or finish a statement causes my teeth to itch and I either hang up the phone, or when in a good mood, answer the question for them and wait for them to catch up. Let’s just say I haven’t been in a good mood lately.

Slow people fucking irritate me! Wether they are slow moving, slow reacting, slow talking, or slow eating, just being in the presence of someone who can’t walk and chew gum at the same time makes me want to go over and sort things out for them. Yes, I have control issues. Yes, I am a grouchy cow. And no, I am not bothered by either of these things. The only time I like a slow moving punter is during a Dom session, it gives me the perfect excuse to wail on them with gleeful abandon. And god help them if they don’t react. Even when they react I still hit them, just for the sheer hell of being in my presence. But there can be too much of a good thing. I start getting RSI, due to whipping the holy hell out of idiots.

Or they show up straight from work, mind you I haven’t a problem with a man coming in from work in his work clothes. But, when that work is farming, and it involves domestic animals, I kind of take exception when they walze in covered in mud and/or pig, sheep, horse, or cow shit! Yes I fucking take exception to this! Why, because they don’t for a second think they should have showered at home before venturing out like that? Don’t they have a minder that points these things out? How do you manage to go from feeding Daisy the cow to wanting to shag an escort? With not so much as pause to clean yourself? Baffling.

So finally after having enough of this muckiness, I ordered one gent to remove his shoes before stepping on my carpets. He looked at me funny. And I repeated myself. He just couldn’t seen to understand why I wanted him to remove his mud covered shoes, from which there was the faint odour of animal excrement tickling my nose. The bouquet wasn’t canine, which tends to be rather sharp and sour. It had a more bovinian and ovinian tinge to it, which can carry a more malty, verdant, and earthy notes. Oh sweet Jesus, I have been far to long in the country. I am now assigning top, middle and base notes to animal poo!

Anyway, he did remove his shoes, and looked longingly back at them, to which I blurted out before I could stop myself, “Trust me dear, no one is going to steal those boots.” I think he took exception to my statement. Too bloody bad. I wasn’t going to have to spend the better part of 20 minutes cleaning my damn carpet to within an inch of its life again that week for no one! I am down on my knees enough, thank you very much.

3 thoughts on “Sheep-shaggers, Bell-ringers, And angry chipolatas. My observations on working in the countryside.

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