Country Boys

1 A moving story

Hello. To be honest, I didn’t want our new column to refer to Country Boys. Too redolent of butch Rust Belt riffraff for me. But Teddy had his way (as always) so I’ll just have to go along with it.

It’s meant to be our account of moving from the hustle bustle of our old life in Parsons Green, West London, to the rural serenity of our darling cottage in the Wiltshire village of Frame Hampton (it’s quite small but the biggest one round here).

Although we only moved a month ago (still cardboard boxes and piles of books everywhere, dear) we already feel settled in nicely and are loving our first real encounter with nature and country life.

We haven’t been out much. The local pub, the Ratcatchers Arms, looks a tad basic but we hear great things about the Fecund Ferret on the road to Compton Chamberlayne.

Now we’re well into autumn, the leaves are turning iridescent colours of red and gold. In our tiny garden the silver birch is already assuming a skeletal look and the Hypochondria is ablaze.

Last weekend Teddy and I put on our new Ultralight Free Soldiers (chance’d be a fine thing, I said to Ted) and hiked up to Walton’s Spinney where you can just see Stonehenge on a clear day. I have to report that the Pilton’s Crapwurt is flourishing after the recent rain, although in the northwest corner there looked to be a nasty case of Hymenoschyphus Fraxineus (that’s ash dieback to you, lumberjack). Let’s hope all will be well.

More next time when we continue to adjust to rural life and, Covid permitting,  look forward to Christmas: chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose (or has someone already written that?)

Oliver

Part 2

Hello again. I’m not sure Teddy’s settling into our new country life as well as I am. I think he misses Parsons Green and, more particularly, the West End. 

I’ve told him that’s all over now; his days in the theatre are finis: exeunt all. It’s his own fault. Lighting directors should be seen and not heard, I said. Throwing that hissy fit with Judi before lockdown made him practically persona non grunta. 

Well, he’s done the retraining, is good with computers and can work from home. So that’s why we moved to Frame Hampton. Just fucking deal with it! Course I don’t tell him that.

Me? I’m like a pig in, actually. I love the peace and serenity here in Wiltshire and it’s so dark now the clocks have gone back. I’m settling into a routine keeping things nice but I’m insisting that Ted and I go for a long walk at some point during the day. Sometimes he’s not that willing but I can be quite firm when I want to be!

The other weekend we drove over to Cerne Abbas and that was nice. Later I overheard Teddy Zooming his old mates at the Colly and saying what fun we had climbing all over the Giant’s you-know-what. Sometimes he can be so unbelievably schoolboy smutty. I just let him get on with it.

The leaves have almost gone now. Our darling village, so green and luscious when we viewed the cottage in the summer, is ghostly and bare. The only splash of colour is from the leaves of the variegated Paranoia Magna on our south wall. The early frosts remind me that it’s nearly Christmas.  

We’re in Covid Tier Two so we have decided to keep ourselves to ourselves and I guess it will be turkey crown a deux this year. Truth is we’ve not been out too much mixing with hoi polloi. We venture to the village shop, of course (Sikhs are lovely people, aren’t they?) and already I hear that villagers refer to Teddy and me as The Boys. Would that that were true, darling! 

Till the next time and try to have a jolly Christmas despite the pandemic.

Oliver 


© 2005-2021 Alastair McIntyre