[The dangers of a cheese stampede are clearly visible in this photo of the catastrophic pile up caused by cheeses allowed to run wild]
Now, from the way you are surreptitiously oiling your black leather TV engineer fetish harness of choice, I can see we are going to have to speak of the best way of approaching cheese out in the wild. I am sure that you – as a regular peruser of my splendid organ – are no doubt quite adept at approaching the domesticated cheese, especially during a typical cheese and wine orgy at your local village hall.
However, approaching a cheese out in the wild, especially when not wearing the bejewelled orgy cape and sandpaper-lined thong of a well-seasoned village-orgy goer, is not without it own very particular peculiarities, especially in the vexed area of stance-adoption.
In which case I can only warn you that full many a person has been caught out by adopting the stance of an itinerant banjo-polisher whilst approaching a untamed Wensleydale and been surprised at the vehemence of the cheese’s response, especially if they approached the cheese downwind of the jar of pickled onions.
Sometimes, afterwards, all that remains are a few cracker crumbs and a small remnant of a semi-polished banjo for the poor distraught widow to grieve over before being forced to seek solace in the arms of the nearest local village blacksmith.