Wednesday, 24 February 2010

Its all me, me ,me

Today as its raining again (Grrrrrrrrrr!!!) I thought I'd begin some spring cleaning. Upon which I have discovered a corner of my bedroom wall (outside wall) is damp, the skirting board is black and fuzzy and the carpet is soaking wet. Hmmmmm maybe a beige flat in the city isn't so bad.

I was having a moan to my BFF on the phone, she lives is a very fashionable apartment in central London, spends her days working as a freelance make up artist for fashion shows and glossy high fashion magazines, she has just bought her self a pair of skyhigh strappy Manolo blaniks shoes with her pay cheque from tatler.

We couldn't be live in any more different worlds if we tried. However she is my oldest friend, we grew up together in the same small town. When she's asked about me by people who once knew me, she loves the looks on their faces when she tells them what I'm doing, They're like 'Noooooooooo, seriously?!?.

So how did I get where I am today, living in a tumbledown damp cottage, surrounded by mud and keeping baby chicks in my wardrobe.

Both my grandfathers were countrymen, My grandmothers were land girls during the war. My mother was a stick thin fashion model in the 60s and early 70s, living between Paris, Monaco and London, she had a string of millionaire playboy boyfriends, rockstars, racing drivers and polo players (sadly none of which were my father otherwise I could afford to sort out the damp in the cottage) she retired from being a jet setter and moved back down to the small village were she was born in Devon and married my father and had me. She raised me on my own (father disappeared soon after I was born) in a tiny cottage with roses growing around the door and open fields and woodlands all around. Now I think I had a pretty idyllic rural childhood (very darling buds of may) and I was pony mad, By the time I was 10 I had 3 ponies (my old Shetland, a Dartmoor and a fancy show pony I'd ride at the pony club) Yes I was a sweet rosy-checked little village girl.

That all changed when I reached 14/15. I discovered boys!!!!!!
Suddenly the horse's and ponies were forgotten and I hated, really passionately hated the countryside (£8.00 for a taxi home from town). I was a horrible teenager and couldn't wait to leave the village and run away to London. I had 4 part time/after school jobs, to help fund my get away/nights out/ unsuitable clothing buying. I was a beater for the local shoot on winter Sundays, a dog walker, a groom/rider on the racing yard and My least favourite, my god I hated this job, was an egg collector on the farm.
Every Saturday morning I would drag my self up to the farm at about 8.00 (I was always late) to walk up and down the barns collecting eggs from the nest boxes, checking the chickens in the fields for any that had laid outside then taking bucket after bucket of eggs back to the egg shed to sort into (supermarket) saleable and rejects (village shop/farm gate) saleable. I could spot a double yolker at 20 feet away. Now I hated this job, I got paid £5 for half a days work, But most of all I hated the stupid chickens ( I can hear you gasping), they smelt funny, they pecked me, I hated having to open up a nest box and put my hand under one and fish out a egg. Hated it, hated it, hated it.

I did run away to London for a spell, I got into the London collage of fashion, where I started training as a designer, went to fashionable parties, wore gorgeous clothes and shyhigh heels, dated DJs and members of boy bands. I loved it, but it always felt something was missing.
My life was very shallow, a lot of my so-called friends were even shallower. I used to go on secret trips to Hyde park and sit and look at the green grass, the trees and listen to birds.
Yep you can take the girl out of the country but you can't take the country out of the girl.
So I jacked my course in, dumped my boy band/DJ boyfriend and came back to the village, hell bent on becoming a farmers wife.

I dated a string of eligible YF's, tractor drivers, tree surgeons, gamekeepers, and landowners sons.
I ended up marring a townie boy who didn't believe that ducks were capable of flying and milk was poisonous to humans when it had been freshly milked (thankfully he doesn't believe that nonsense now lol).

So all though I'm sooooooooooo fed up of the cold and mud and wellies blocking the front door, put me back in nice beige flat with central heating and views of concrete I would go insane (If I go into someones house with Central heating I start sneezing, my eyes water, throat hurts and I get a rash on my neck).

Anyway it has to stop raining soon and then it will be spring (hooray).

Just hurry up with it ok.

jess x

P.S I like to take this opportunity to apologise to the 400 little brown hens I used to swear at and call stupid and ugly every Saturday in 1994 and 1995.

3 comments:

Chicken Boys said...

That's a bit of extremism, I do say. I love the city...but for visits. I live in the country, and I love living that way. Love my dogs and cats and chickens.
~Randy

John Gray jgsheffield@hotmail.com said...

great blog jess..vfunny...

i love the country but miss sheffield all the time....

thecoffee shops, bookshops, museums, nice wine bars, good card shops......broadminded people......

yeap its nice to visit to feelmore human!!

chin upxxxx

Libby said...

What a fun life you have lived though, and at least you don't have that 'if only' thought at the back of your head lol!
A great blog, I shall be back

 

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