And so we come to that time in the rural calendar when a man looks at his sheep flock and begins to wonder. After all, ‘there is no finer sight in any gentle rolling green English field than the sight of a fresh young ewe from behind,’ as Old Feebletrousers often remarks after the first few dozen pints in The Pervert’s Appendage of an evening, as strange stirrings take place deep in the darker recesses of his wellies.
Of course, though, however and notwithstanding (or more often than not with standing), us more modern farmers who have had to enter into the wilder unknown shores of diversification also look over our flocks of farm-assured home-grown organic hairstylists. Moreover, we too wonder as we observe them going about that strange pre-mating ritual they call ‘getting ready for a girl’s night out.’ and, yes, our wellies too throb with anticipation and excitement as the sap of spring rises all around us, and – as we are only human* - within us too.
*In the case of Grand Uncle Stagnant only just human.