Not what you expect to see, at the entrance to your drive, at 7.00 a.m. on a Monday morning.
Mercifully our gate had been closed because, as the story went, when Mike reached it the cows were peering at him over the top. The bin bag run abandoned, he was stood wondering what to do next when a quad bike appeared on the road. Neighbour Trevor was fuming. “Bloody cows, been right through to my back garden!”
He had to yell over the heads of the beasts in question one of which, Mike noticed, appeared to have a blue hydrangea petal clinging to the end of its nose. A car pulled up on the road and a girl got out. Pyjamas clearly visible under her coat, it was obvious that her day had not started well. The field gate had been left open. And a new farm hand was firmly in the frame.
The cows soon tired of the culinary offerings provided by the hedgerow alongside our drive. They spilled out over the road, climbing the verges and moving off into the fields beyond. The handle of the quad bike received a sharp twist and Trevor was away, leaving only dust in his wake.
A second quad came skidding to a halt, the young lad perched upon it careful to avoid eye contact with the girl from the car. Taking the lead from our neighbour, but with less of the enthusiasm it had to be said, he also took off in pursuit of the cows. ‘The Ladies’ had had their excitement for the day.
Trevor’s garden did not entirely lose out. An hour or so later the thrum of a quad bike could be heard once more, a bucket slung from the handlebars from which was extracted a trowel.
“Waste not, want not…”