Tag: country life

Winter Sucks, and Here’s Why:

On By CityGirlCountryLifeIn city girl, country lifeLeave a comment

Ok, so before any of you throw your arms up in outrage and lecture me about the dreaded C word or S word (get your mind out of the gutter, I’m referring to Christmas and snow), just hear me out…

Not only have I had to relent and finally put my heating on, but it transpires I’m not the only one who wants to live in my house and enjoy such amenities. And these guys are far from welcome.

I’m talking about spiders, and not just your iddy-biddy house spiders that you can scoop up and pop out the window. These tw*ting things are obscene, I sh*t you not.

When I moved to the countryside, not a single bumpkin did me a solid and warned me that I’d be dealing with ones the size of f**king wombats that are too big to fit in a pint glass and take a battering with a slipper to merely concuss. Cheers for that, guys.

And I’m not just talking about the odd one either before you accuse me of being a townie, these arseholes are everywhere I turn. Yes, I’m prone to a slight exaggeration at times, but we’re genuinely into double digits now and this sh*t just isn’t funny anymore. Exhibit A:

But just to further enhance my point, allow me to provide additional material to substantiate my claim…

And it’s not just the fat ones either, they’re descending upon me in all shapes and sizes now and the newest iteration of these utter bastards can actually f*ck right off:

I appreciate this post is getting very sweary now but given the magnitude of the situation, I think the frequency and sheer range of profanities is more than justified. So I will leave it here, but I offer you no apology as, quite frankly, it’s all getting a little bit f*cking ridiculous now.

Until next time…unless I’m found dead, half eaten by a bunch of rabid spiders who’ve invaded my home en masse. F*ckers.

“My Dog Never…”

On By CityGirlCountryLifeIn city girl, country lifeLeave a comment

Ok, so as always, it’s been a while. But to be fair to me, I have been bloody busy with work (and I mean *really* busy). So much so, it’s literally taken up 90% of my existence for the last few months.

As a result, the dogs have been my absolute saviour – ensuring I still get away from the desk twice a day and insisting I look up from my screen at least every few hours for a 5 minute cuddle as they rest their chins on my lap.

I’ve even managed to fit in a handful of training sessions with them on the odd evening and it’s been great to see they haven’t entirely forgotten what they’re supposed to do, having been left to act like “normal” dogs for a few months after a busy shoot season.

Which brings me onto the reason for this post and the moment that prompted it…anyone else noticed that as soon as you say “my dog never [insert horrific activity here]” they seem to take it as a call to action and before you know it, right in front of your eyes, off they go, never’ing like they’ve never fucking never’ed before.

Take Monty, for example – the golden boy, the most well mannered dog you will EVER meet. I cannot tell you how many times a day I get told how amazing, how wonderful, how much of a perfect specimen of a Labrador he is. And I take great delight in wholeheartedly agreeing with every person that informs me of this.

Someone in the office the other week even had the audacity to ask how I would discipline him. Oh how I laughed. “Discipline him?!” I replied incredulously, “Monty never needs disciplining, he’s the best behaved dog on the planet. He’d never do anything wrong!”

You can see where this is going right? Tell me you’ve caught the gist of this? But I can promise you now, whatever it is you are imagining, what I’m about to tell you is a WORLD away from what you could possibly ever contemplate, and a million times worse:

The boys and I were having a lovely time exploring a new beach the other Saturday and smuggy smug face here was walking along, revelling in the fact that my boys (my darling boys!) are just so well behaved compared to all the other ill-mannered arsehole dogs tearing the place apart. My dogs would never misbehave like that!

As we’re walking back up toward the promenade I notice that Monty wasn’t with me, but that’s ok, he’s *such* a good boy, I knew he’d be following along any minute, and he was, to be entirely fair to him. But as he got closer he seemed to be particularly pleased with himself with his signature slow tail wag, it was at this point I noticed something hanging from his mouth…

As I spotted what appeared to be a fish dangling between his teeth, my first thought was “ohhhh you are SHITTING me!!” Followed by “how the hell am I going to stop him from eating that?!” But being the good boy that he is, he’s not trying to eat it, ohh no, no, no! He’s just bringing it to me.

So I pulled my phone out to video the mildly amusing situation and as I crouched down, that’s when I realised…my dog has brought me a shark’s head.

It was probably only a dog fish, but still, let’s take a moment here – A F’ING SHARK’S HEAD!! An old, crusty, severed head of a f*cking shark. And where the bloody hell was the rest of the sh*tting thing?!?

I mean, I know this dog has a good nose, but a sodding shark’s head though?? This just takes it to a whole new f*cking level. What dog even find shark’s head on a beach, let alone brings it to you?!? A dickhead one, that’s what kind. Jesus Monty. What the f*ck am I even supposed to do with that?!?

Ohhh but it doesn’t end there, it gets sooo much better because, remember, Monty is SO well trained that he couldn’t possibly spit out this lovely present that he has retrieved especially for me.

Whilst I’m emphatically repeating the “dead” command to no avail and trying not to vomit in my own mouth at the same time, the moment of realisation hits me that I am going to have to hold the f*cking thing in order for him to let go (as per his training) 🤢🤢🤢

I know you won’t believe me, and much like when I broke the broom handle on the arse of my 250kg pig after she escaped onto the neighbouring farm (refer to my first ever blog post if you have no idea what I’m talking about), I thought to myself at that very moment “you couldn’t write this shit”.

And so, for your hilarity and my trauma recovery process, please see the ensuing video as evidence of how just much of a dickhead my dog can be, and equally how amusing he thought the entire experience was.

Until next time…(although, quite frankly, I sincerely f*cking hope not to repeat this horrific experience anytime soon)

Will it Ever be Acceptable?

On By CityGirlCountryLifeIn city girl, country lifeLeave a comment

My family will tell you that I never have been the kind of woman who possesses the urge to push a human out of my uterus. In fact, I’m 99% positive that I ovulate sand.

Don’t get me wrong, I like children, I find them an endless source of entertainment and more often than not they’re on a far similar wave length to me than some (ok, most) adults. But babies on the other hand, scare the living daylights out of me.

I clearly missed the gene which is responsible for the broody behaviour my friends tell me about, and ever since my uni days I knew I’d sooner have a menagerie of animals than children. I’ve never had a “tingly uterus” when grimly clinging onto a baby for dear life whilst it desperately tries to wriggle free from my grasp, like some sort of living slinky. I tend to be more focused on surreptitiously trying to disguise the fear and cluelessness on my face in front of their parent than wondering if the look of motherhood suits me.

I’m not alone in this knowledge either, babies can sense it too because as soon as I hold one – related to me or not, and regardless of age – you can’t count to three before it’s started screaming in my arms and making a desperate bid for freedom. It’s as guaranteed as night follows day, I’d bet my house on it every time.

So, as you can imagine, I’ve been the subject of my fair share of judgement over the years but, surprisingly to me, I’ve experienced it in both my city and my country lives.

Now, of everything I’ve ever written about, this is, for sure, the trickiest subject. I can’t avoid the stigma around not wanting to use a functioning uterus or the feeling of guilt when discussing my life choices, because there are some women (who I really do truly feel for) that would swap a limb for the ability to procreate, and I certainly can’t avoid the labels.

Oh the labels! I’ve been called everything under the sun – selfish, lazy, inconsiderate, unfit for marriage. I’ve been accused of going against nature’s plan or God’s will. but let me ask you something, just because I have a uterus, does that mean I must use it to it’s maximum cababilities?

I have a perfectly functioning left arm but if I used it to it’s full potential, I’d sure as sh*t be in prison right now or at the very least have a number of GBH charges against me, as the desire to punch insufferable people in the throat just comes so easily to me…“But it’s nature’s plan!!” 🤷🏼‍♀️

Alas, over the years I’ve refrained from causing bodily harm and instead resorted to dry wit and sarcasm. Not that this approach went down particularly well with the country set…not sure they ever fully understood my humour as a barrier to avoid unwelcome conversations regarding my own reproductive organs being foisted upon me against my will.

But to be fair, it was pretty much expected from a bunch of people who have, quite frankly, struggled to keep up with societal changes that have been widely accepted elsewhere in the country (and the rest of the modern world) over the last 5 decades. There are people I met in Wiltshire who would honestly still perceive sheep shagging as more acceptable than homosexuality or being transgender. Truly baffling.

What surprised me most though was the second degree judgement from city people that I’ve experienced lately now that I’m in another serious relationship. Apparently it’s acceptable to not want a baby whilst you’re single, but if you don’t suddenly become a walking uterus that’s desperate to get knocked up the minute you’re happy and comfortable, then clearly something’s wrong with you!

I don’t know which form of judgement I dislike more to be honest with you, at least the bloody bumpkins are consistent in their judgemental approach to modern women. Whereas with certain city folk, they lull you into the false sense of security that you’re apparently accepted…but only in certain circumstances!

So I’ve found myself wondering on more than one occasion – and more often than I care to admit – with the wonderful (long overdue), huge leaps forward in finally normalising so many of society’s stigmatised outliers…is the happily settled woman who doesn’t want to procreate the last species left to be truly accepted?

Until next time…

@citygirlcountrylife_

Imposter Syndrome, BIG TIME

On By CityGirlCountryLifeIn city girl, country life3 Comments

Firstly I need to apologise for not writing a blog since frickin’ December…where the bloody hell has time gone in this lockdown?! But secondly, I think I’ve finally built up the courage to talk about something that’s been weighing on my mind and I wasn’t sure I should or even could.

This requires a bit of back story…rewind the clock by about a month when I received a very out of the blue message from a wonderful woman I worked with at the World Equestrian Games in Tryon back in 2018, asking me if I had any Tokyo plans. Of course I don’t, barely anyone in the world does right now!

Well, off the back of this message a very surreal conversation was had about whether I would even be available to act as a last minute stand in Deputy Media Manager for equestrian sport, let alone be a suitable one. Not for a second did I think I’d be offered the role, but I spoke to my CEO anyway to see if 7 weeks away was at all feasible.

For those of you that can’t see what’s coming, thanks to an amazing company agreeing to my leave request and after lengthy talks and a couple of interviews with TOCOG, I was actually offered the role. More like TOCO.M.G. 🤯

Of course I’m absolutely buzzing, what an incredible experience! But then as I start to tell my nearest and dearest, at a time when I’m supposed to be on a total high, I get hit by a huge wave of doubt…what are people in the equestrian industry going to say about me getting the role instead of someone else? Do I even deserve it? Jesus, what was I thinking?? I’m not good enough for this!

And it stops me in my tracks: shame, self-doubt and almost embarrassment. I can’t share this news with my peers, they’ll all be judging me behind my back – “why did she get it? Surely she’s not experienced enough. It should have been [so and so].”

In amongst the shame, was the thought “I shouldn’t share this with people who know me, it’ll come across as bragging and make me sound so big headed. Not what you want when you don’t even deserve the role in the first place.”

What was weirder was that I felt more comfortable sharing the news with a bunch of total strangers on my blog page than I did telling people who knew me, people who (I’d hope anyway!) actually like me. Because I didn’t have to worry about the strangers’ opinions, they don’t know if I’m capable or not. Bizarre how the brain works hey?

So, obviously, I gave myself another good talking to, kicked my own butt like no one else could and decided to bloody well practice what I preach – be unapologetically Amy.

I completely acknowledge the critics in the back row telling me how they can do it better, there’s no getting away from them. To ignore them would be both ignorant and arrogant in equal measures.

But know this, whatever they say can’t be any worse than the things I’ve said to myself already…and I’ve survived those, so anything else thrown my way should be an absolute breeze!

Yes there are people with more experience, there are people with more equestrian knowledge who have been immersed in the sport for as many decades as I’ve been alive. But I can bet your arse none of them can walk into a media centre at 7am and just get sh*t done with a smile for 15 hours straight, whatever it takes.

Yes, it might be with the aid of copious amounts of coffee in the morning and a fair quantity of rum as 10pm hits and we’re still going strong, but I’m still there smiling and cracking jokes, and I’d like to think the rest of the team will be grateful for that when we’re in various states of despair.

Some call me solutions driven, I call it a JFGID (just f**king get it done) attitude, either way it’s a seemingly transferable skill and serves me well.

I know I wasn’t the first choice, I wasn’t even the second, but someone must have enjoyed working with me and seen some level of capability to recommend me for such a job. That level of confidence in my ability from someone that knows what they’re talking about means a lot, and I shouldn’t disregard that.

So, here I am finally admitting that I’ve got this incredible opportunity, I’m sure as sh*t not going to screw it up and, quite frankly, I’m a little bit proud of myself.

Until next time…

An Ode to Wiltshire

On By CityGirlCountryLifeIn city girl, country lifeLeave a comment

Well, you could certainly say that my time in Wiltshire has been a game of two halves. There’s no denying the joy this beautiful place has brought me over the last 6 years, but it would be remiss not to acknowledge the tougher times too.

Both have equally helped cement my identity further as “unapologetically Amy” (those who know me may wish to replace that with “stubborn b*tch”) as well as highlight an absolutely exceptional bunch of friends who have been there to share with me both the good times and the bad.

Despite desperately missing London like some sort of highly addictive drug during my time here, I will miss certain elements bumpkin life. Belonging to a group of people who passionately care about being stewards of our Great British countryside being one of them, but I can’t deny the struggle I had with the small community culture when I arrived.

Everybody knowing everyone’s life and seemingly feeling entitled to discuss it, even without invitation felt very alien to me. Coming from the big smoke where you can be working in the same building as someone for 5 years and still have never met them, this lifestyle came as quite a shock to the system for me and I regularly felt irritated at being the subject of gossip. I know us townies are a rare species out here but I’m really not that exciting or worth talking about!

What I can say though, is that the community spirit shown here – where people with the same values, passions and goals work together to achieve something greater than the sum of its parts – is unrivalled and admirable, and I’ll certainly struggle to find that outside of the agricultural way of life I have come to deeply respect.

What I have witnessed time and time again is people rallying around those in need in a way that city folk could learn something from. If you need a hand then someone will always be there no matter what you need, whatever the time of day. Horses stuck in a flood? Someone will have a patch of land you can borrow. All your winter feed that you’ve spent all summer growing, harvesting and storing burnt down in a vicious arson attack? Give the community 48 hours and you’ll have enough stock donated to see you through until you can get yourself back on your feet, no matter what hard times they’re also going through.

My values haven’t always aligned with those of the more traditional ways of life, let’s be honest. When I told people that I wasn’t giving up my career or my job in London when I moved here or when I dropped the (apparently controversial) bombshell that I didn’t want children, their reactions ranged from surprise and admiration to sheer abhorrence and disgust. I used to love saying things just to see the look on their faces for my own amusement sometimes. Me, a wind up? Never…😉

What I struggled with the most though was the constant assumptions of what I’d do with my uterus after I got married and the very casual approach everyone took to discussing it as an open subject. I’ll never forget making small talk at a ball with people I barely knew when someone said to me “so when are you having children?”…a) “when” is a very bold assumption to make, and b) plural?! My dear, you’d sooner see me sh*t in my hands and clap than push multiple humans out of my body.

My response, as I’m sure you can all imagine by now, was somewhat inflammatory: “good question, so tell me, how small is your penis?” Cue a look of utter horror fall across his face…”oh so THAT’S the inappropriate question! Of course, sorry – naturally we’re allowed to talk about my reproductive system but yours is TOTALLY off-limits. Absolutely. I get it now. Sorry, what was your question again?” Quickest way to get rid of irritating company you’ll ever come across, that’s for sure.

The other part of Wiltshire that I’ll seriously miss is a group of likeminded lunatics that I came across after moving into a flat last year and living on my own for the first time. These people seemed to revel in physical challenges and managed to have a laugh at the same time just as much as me, so I thought I’d give Bootcamp a go and join them in this mad version of (what we call) exercise.

It was daunting at first turning up, not knowing anyone or really what to do. But the support and encouragement I received from the crazy bunch at Chippenham, the sense of community I encountered after feeling fairly alone for quite sometime, was honestly so uplifting. I felt at home almost right away.

We’re all of different fitness levels, ages, shapes and sizes but there is ZERO judgement. If you get stuck in and give it a go, then you’re as good as anyone else there. Whether it’s lashing down with rain and your rolling around on your back in mud or whether it’s 25 degrees and your taking a running leap at a slip and slide set up by the amazing instructors, I can honestly say I’ve never come away from one of those sessions not feeling better, more positive or without a smile on my face. They’re a bunch of people collectively nuttier than squirrel bo**ocks and I’ll miss them dearly.

————————————————-

When you truly embed yourself in country living and experience everything it has to offer – the incredible beauty, the crashing lows unfairly dealt to the agricultural industry by the media or Mother Nature, the community and all its good and bad parts, the joys of newborn animals, the scenery each season brings – you can’t help but forge a strong connection to your surroundings.

Thanks to Wiltshire I’ve discovered some incredible loves in my life: raising animals, gundog working, witnessing nature; and my life would certainly be poorer without these experiences. Had I not moved here I might never have had Trigger and I certainly would never have found Rusty or Dotty pig.

Had I stuck to my roots near London I wouldn’t have indulged in all of these rural passions. As much as I bemoaned the lack of variety, what I lacked in they way of cocktails I gained in the way of cheese festivals…(!) and I thank my lucky stars for it.

And so, as one chapter ends, the next one starts with all the promise and excitement of any good story. And, of course, I promise to take you all with me.

Until next time, Wiltshire, it’s been a mighty fine adventure.

Shooting, Swearing and Wild Wees…

On By CityGirlCountryLifeIn city girl, country lifeLeave a comment

Well that’s it, we’re into October and after worrying what the effects of Covid would be, thank god there’s actually something of the shooting season to enjoy! Yay!

After a summer consisting of at least 100 hours of training for Trigger and I, we were ready and raring with apparently nowhere to go. Then, thankfully, I got an invitation last week to pick up on a walked up day of shooting. We were on!

I put the call into work, “can I have the day off to do a bit of life admin (which, to be fair I had lots to do in the afternoon) and oh, you know, justgoandpickupsomedeadbirdswithtrigger”…if I say it quickly they don’t tend to hear it properly or question my “crazy idea” of a fun day off.

I got the green light, so it was all systems go and I crammed in a bit of last minute/emergency/“don’t make a bloody tit out of yourself now Amy” training after a couple of quiet weeks since I’d been back working in London.

Having sharpened up again, the day came and off little Triggs and I went full of joy and excitement. Obviously I spent the whole car journey telling myself “don’t f**k it up, don’t f**k it up!” We’d not done a walked up day before and as steady as my boy is, this type of shoot is a very intense day with lots going on.

So, we get started and I send Trigger after a very easy retrieve in a straight line to pick up a duck on the edge of a pen. “Boom, we’ve got this” I think to myself, so I give Trigger the command, confident as you like…we already know this isn’t going to work out well.

For some reason that I still just cannot fathom, I watched my dog in almost slow motion, out of nowhere, dart sharply off to the left, plough through a patch of nettles, charge down a bank and fling himself with utter abandon into the river below for ABSOLUTELY NO F**KING REASON WHATSOEVER!! Mortified. 🤦🏼‍♀️

For the townies reading this who don’t quite understand, this is the equivalent of Messi missing an open goal, Nadal smashing the ball over the roof of centre court on a match point, Usain Bolt actively running in the wrong direction…it’s THAT much of a ridiculous overreaction to a sporting formality. Of course I cringed, of course I swore *very* loudly, but sadly the ground did not open up and swallow me.

Once we’d had a quiet word with ourselves, an “internal monologue” (as my colleague says) if you will, we got our sh*t together and the day was going smoothly. That is until some sharp shooting tit of a gun decides to take down a partridge behind us in the next field over and I don’t have a scoobydo where this thing landed.

I stand there, close my eyes momentarily *please don’t be me, please don’t be me*…and I hear the call, “madam, that’s yours”…BALLS. It took all my might not to flip this guy the bird as I walk past all smiles, “good shot sir! Any idea where it landed?”

Of course it was the other side of a maize crop taller than me and 60 metres into a ploughed sodding field. Where else would it be?

So off we traipse, wrestling my way through the bloody maize jungle and into a rusty barbed wire fence that’s too rickety for me to climb over. So I send my boy, and (after a false start where he retrieved a partridge that looked like it had shuffled off this mortal coil a good few weeks ago) he’s off like a bullet and bringing the bird back without any assistance from me. Why are there never any witnesses when it goes well?!

So I thought to myself, “well, whilst I’m here and no-one can see me I’ll have a little wild wee” – my second ever, and something I’ve finally learnt to do in my mid-thirties thanks to my recent time in Devon.

Side note: my mother is utterly appalled by this apparently degrading act of nature. I, on the other hand, am somewhat proud of my newfound bumpkin ability to conduct my ablutions in the open air. It’s really rather liberating!

Anyway, what then ensues is the longest seven and a half minutes of my life as I manage to get not only my jacket but also the back of my trousers entangled in the barbed wire fence as the rest of the shoot disappear off into the distance.

“Right ok, don’t panic, this is easily rectified” I tell myself as I then get my hair, swiftly followed by my left sleeve equally stuck whilst trying to release my jacket, so now I’m trussed up like some ridiculous Christmas Turkey with, quite literally, nowhere to go.

There’s only one thing for it…I’m going to have to just unfree myself from the jacket, wriggle out and it will all be fine. Tell me something, have you ever tried unzipping a jacket one handed whilst a barbed wire fence is mere millimetres from piercing your bare backside? No? Didn’t think so, and I don’t expect there are many others who have equally found themselves in the same precarious position, but here we are.

Luckily I managed to channel my inner Houdini but all I could think to myself was “they’re going to think it took me f’ing forever to find this bloody bird,” that I’m now unceremoniously stuffing in my pocket, “it better be bloody worth it”, as Trigger proudly trots alongside me and we make a mad dash to rejoin the line, hoping no-one had noticed how long I’d been.

Apart from one remark that I looked like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards (if only they knew!!) thankfully no one muttered a word and Trigger was praised for his wonderful work. I, on the other hand, spent the rest of the day looking like the wild woman of Borneo whilst trying to surreptitiously check the seams of my trousers for any holes that had gone unnoticed during my endeavours.

But never mind, we move on and we live to fight another day, or another inanimate object it appears, either one.

Until next time…!

Ginger Makes Everything Better

On By CityGirlCountryLifeIn city girl, country lifeLeave a comment

How? How could I have gotten almost two years into this blog and not written a post dedicated to the most important man in my life?! I know, I’m disgusted with myself too.

For those of you unfamiliar with him, he has the most heart melting (different coloured) brown eyes, beautiful auburn hair, soft ears, a wet nose and four legs…and goes by the name of Trigger. Or Ginge. Or Doofus.

So let me tell you how he came to enter my life a little over four years ago. I started my love affair with fox red Labradors when I was at Burghley Horse Trials in the September of 2015 and bumped into a lady called Ali with a gorgeous bitch called Finch. We started talking and before she could leave I already had my name down for one of her pups that Finch was hopefully having the following year.

Fast forward to the 2nd April 2016 and along came my 30th birthday present…one of seven adorable fox red slugs, I mean puppies 🧡

I was extremely fortunate to have pick of the litter and eventually, after much deliberation, chose Trigger. I tell a lie, he actually picked me – as every good doggo does. I couldn’t decide between him and one of his brothers, but when I held him in front of my face, this little ginger bundle licked my nose and I was sold. BFF’s forever.

I know everyone likes to tell you how amazing their dog is, but my god was that puppy an arsehole. A cute one, but an arsehole nonetheless.

He chewed EVERYTHING. I was constantly getting pictures from his dog walker of the devastation the little sh*t had wreaked in the small matter of hours he’d been left to his own devices. I can’t tell you the amount of dog beds/blankets/toys/bowls he got through in the first year of his life. But look at him!!

A year in and he was almost 30kg of overly-familiar canine who loved to greet everybody somewhat enthusiastically, whether they liked it or not. Having aced puppy classes I figured it was about time we took it up a notch and went to gun dog training to try and gain some sort of control over the unruly sod.

Needless to say, all the instinct was there for Trigger to become a cracking gun dog and I was the one that required most of the training. Twelve months down the line, we had progressed from a lazy, good for nothing Labrador with an absolutely useless handler, to a decent enough team to start working on a shoot.

This is where I might loose one or two of the townies amongst you so I’ll gloss over the whole pheasant shooting thing to avoid another “who are you picking up?” debacle. But what you can all relate to is just how much a single ginger doggo can change your life for the better.

This soppy, adorable, love sponge of a Labrador entered my world at a time when I was trying to settle into a new life in the countryside and, in retrospect, felt incredibly lonely. He’s since wiped away my tears – sometimes willingly, other times unknowingly – on countless occasions and I honestly don’t think I would have had the strength to get up and carry on going on certain tough days if it weren’t for him.

But the tears of sadness have also been counterbalanced by tears of sheer laughter at my beautiful boy. From carrying around his favourite pair of socks (including insistently joining me for a pee with them), to flinging himself with utter abandon into any form of water source or trying to stuff as many cuddly toys into his gob as possible when he greets me – even if I only stepped outside to put the bin out.

I certainly never thought my soulmate would come in the form of a canine, but boy, do I thank god every day that he did 🧡

Until next time, follow me on Instagram at @Citygirlcountrylife_

It’s All Gone A Little Too Far Now

On By CityGirlCountryLifeIn city girl, country life, Farm LifeLeave a comment

So we’re 2 weeks into lockdown and to be quite frank, this sh*t isn’t funny anymore…Mum is baking a lemon drizzle cake every fourth hour, dad is swearing at the constant drivel on the telly and there isn’t nearly enough alcohol for me to get through living with my parents again!

I jest, in reality I am actually SO relieved and grateful that my amazing parents invited me to hot-foot it down to Devon to live with them during the apocalypse. Not least because living in a flat without a garden would have been less than ideal for a certain ginger labrador who would have ended up eating the walls by week three.

I’m still doing my day job, working in my parents office/small spare room whilst the Irish genes are coming into full effect in my mother and she checks whether I need a drink or something to eat roughly every 23 minutes in between baking cakes. If I come out of this only 2 stone heavier, I’ll be doing f**king well.

Now, I know I should be grateful, and I am happy to have job security and all that. But I’m not sure I’ve entirely got the best deal here when a lot of my colleagues are on furlough being paid to sit on their arses, whilst I’m working away like a woman possessed in order to get sh*t done. I know I’d moan of boredom before a week was through, but I’d at least like the chance to try and prove myself wrong!

Anyway, on my days off I’m volunteering at the farm next door to my parents’ house. Ever the realist, I am more than happy to admit that, yes, they really must be scraping the barrel for ‘skilled workers’ if they are reduced to accepting help from a townie who lived on a farm for a bit, whilst their usual staff are self isolating. Either way, I’m having an absolute blast!

For any of you that have read about Dotty pig, this is where she lives now and I am DELIGHTED to be seeing her so frequently again. Plus…and you won’t believe this…I actually went into a field full – and I mean FULL – of at least 100 chickens.

So proud, I managed to resist every urge to drop kick the things and run in the other direction but, good news, I didn’t sh*t myself (that could have been awkward) or scream once! Video evidence below, because I know you won’t believe me.

Other jobs have included: rescuing a goose from my stupid dog who thought it needed picking up, prizing my fingers from a micro-pig’s jaws, weeding an enclosure for a raccoon (WTF?!), convincing a Shetland pony who I have renamed Bastard (actually called Custard, but I misheard this) that he can walk through a wide open gate, and fitting a harness to a slinky rat, otherwise known as a ferret – you can take the girl out of the town…

Mika, my beautiful quarantine buddy

Speaking of the stupid mutt, he is proving to be equally as much of a townie as his mother and can’t possibly run in front of the Gator like a real dog, he has to ride in it and embarrass me in front of the farm people and their proper dogs…*facepalm*

Luckily, the farm people (aka Tim and Tina) seem to tolerate us well enough, even when I do look for the date stamp on a fresh egg 🙈 (see reference regarding extracting townie from girl above). They didn’t even mind when Trigger took a running jump into the duck pond or tried to hump their poor 4 year old son, Jake (who we managed to convince that Trigger just wanted a piggyback from).

Speaking of their adorable children, Annabelle drew me a portrait today complete with my green wellies, black gloves, red jacket and brown hair with a blonde ponytail…! Evidently others are starting to notice my appalling roots* and I feel that a trip to Tesco for a box of hair dye would most definitely now be considered essential…

The incriminating portrait…

*read as: half my head

Until next time, I hope you are all keeping well and safe x

2020 Vision

On By CityGirlCountryLifeIn city girl, country lifeLeave a comment

Yes, yes I know…it has been close to a year (again!) since I last posted 🙈 but I hope you can forgive me as life has changed a fair bit for me in that time.

Over those months of radio silence I’ve been doing a lot of observing & reflecting, collecting a few thoughts I’ve had along the way which I wanted to finally share with you. So I hope you can please indulge me in this slight change of direction just this once and read the following 10 points:

1) Life is bloody unpredictable and each day is a gift, not a god-given right, don’t waste a day or take one for granted. You have exactly one life in which to do everything you’ll ever do…act accordingly.

2) Following on from that, if something is making you miserable, you do have the power to change it – in work or love or whatever it may be. Just have the guts to change. You don’t know how much time you’ve got on this earth so don’t waste it being miserable, and you never know what is waiting for you around the corner.

3) Stop bloody moaning! (And I mean this in a loving way) You are not as hard up as you imagine. So your limbs might be aching, at least you have them. So there’s traffic in your way, at least you can see it. However bad public transport is for you, you’re not in a wheelchair.

Never underestimate or take for granted the luxury of being physically able to do whatever it is you want. You are infinitely more advantaged than so many other incredible people out there who’s (dis)ABILITIES will put you to shame. Perspective is an incredible medicine. Appreciate your healthy and functioning body even if it isn’t quite the size you want to be.

Which leads me onto this:

4) You are worth more than a waistline. You are no less valuable as a size 16 than a size 6. For god sake eat the f**king cake, and with zero guilt! I’ll admit, this is the one I struggle with the most, but remember these points and it will start to help.

5) GIVE. The amount of people who have said to me recently that homeless people are there on purpose…really?? I can promise you, no one chooses that life. Of all the truly homeless people I have stopped and spoken to, none of them intended to be on the streets and they are all decent HUMAN beings. So you don’t want to give them money? Buy the guy a coffee and a sausage roll, give someone an unwanted dog coat for their companion, set up a food bank donation box at work. Just do SOMETHING. I promise you, it will make a difference.

5) Stop buying sh*t. Use your money on making memories. Go and visit that friend across the country, buy a nice steak for dinner. You do not need another iPhone or another £10 dress from a sh**ty online retailer. Some of the best jumpers I own were ones I bought when I was 18. I’m now almost 34 and I still wear them (whilst making memories that last a lifetime).

6) Always, ALWAYS cuddle the dog. I’ve never had a bad hug from a dog.

7) stop apologising after saying no to something. It’s a terrible habit.

8) Do what makes you happy, you don’t need to mimic what other people believe in or do to have a fulfilling life. I have no desire to travel abroad for 6 months and “find myself” on a beach in Thailand, and that’s ok! But whatever it is you want to do, do it and excel at it. None of this half-hearted sh*t.

Which brings me to:

9) Always strive to be the best version of yourself. Why bother doing something half-arsed? My favourite motto is “Go Hard or Go Home”. Live by it and you will always aspire to live the best version of your life, and hopefully along the way inspire others to do the same.

And finally,

10) Keep f**king going. No matter how crappy life is right now, just keep wading on through. One thing I can promise you is that it absolutely can get worse, but it will also get a whole lot better at some point. Don’t be that person who makes your friend stand up and give a eulogy at your funeral because you gave up. NEVER quit, just don’t. End of.

How I Know I’m Getting Old

On By CityGirlCountryLifeIn city girl, country lifeLeave a comment

So I am finally facing up to the fact that my birthday is hurtling towards me at a rate of knots and next week I shall be 29 with 4 years’ experience. Ghastly thought.

Over the last few months the evidence has been mounting against me to prove I’m no longer able to deny the inelegant process of ageing, to the point where it’s now smacking me in the face and I’m just going to have to bloody well accept it. Let’s peruse…

Exhibit no: 1

My body has suddenly decided that it is physically impossible to contain fluid for any more than approximately 45 minutes at a time. So it transpires that practically overnight I have obtained the bladder of a 60 year old and need to pee…constantly. I’m still lucky enough to not have to wake up in the night to go but it’s only natural progression!

Exhibit no: 2

I make noises when I bend down to pick things up or sit down in a chair. You know the ones I mean, those involuntary “ooof” groans like your grandma makes. It’s as if I’m all of a sudden a decrepit OAP. Not cool and certainly not attractive! My joints also click when I stand up, I’m literally one step away from saying “Ooo me knees”. *facepalm*

Exhibit no: 3

I now have zero social life and the only person that actually ever wants to speak to me is my mother, no exaggeration and I can prove this to you…

As much as I adore my mother, it’s quite a pathetic sight I’m sure you’ll agree! Which brings me nicely onto:

Exhibit no: 4

I went to Cheltenham races last month and at the sight of freezing twenty-somethings, rather than admire their daring outfit choices and hasty application of fake tan, I found myself somewhat appalled. I could hear myself using phrases that my mother would be proud of like “put some clothes on woman!” and “layers are sexy in winter, not skin.”

Gone are the days when I would even dream of wearing stilettos and a mini skirt in 5 degree temperatures all day. No, no sensible boots and tweed was the theme of the day for me. In fact the only piece of skin you could actually see was my face, and even that was covered up half the time.

So, it transpires “young at heart” is really a thing and “forever young” really is a non-thing. Smashing.

Until next time (when I might feel the need to talk about the price of bread these days and when pensions actually gave you a retirement wage to look forward to)…FML I’m getting old!!