Silage night muck spreading

The other morning me and old Charlie Street was siting out enjoying the view along the cycle path and out over the estuary enjoying a jar or two of Ostlers farm cider that one of Stokey's lads had dropped off the previous evening as he'd been doing a bit of work out at Goodleigh and had gone along to the St Dunstan's Eve apple blossom ceremony and he'd managed to wangle a demi-john of the juice and thought I'd like to sample a drop or two. Lovely lad Stuart.
Anyway once again we were just sat there mulling over the age old shag/cormorant debate and like always we had Radio Devon on in the background as I like to tune into Judi Spiers's show when I am at home.

Dame Judi with legendary side-kick Mr G. Honeybun

As it is I am a great fan of Dame Judi. She' really is what they call a fine old trooper. I love her banter and she never fails to play my kind of music. Anyway we were still listening when Justin had come on and was taking calls on the lunch time phone in programme, our ears pricked up when we heard him say that he was taking a call from Bob in Braunton. Being as we were just down the road we put down our binoculars and lent an ear to the radio. However, moments later after hearing what Bob had to say for himself we were left speechless. Honestly, you couldn't make it up. Bob from Braunton had called in to express his disgust, on BBC Radio Devon, no less of having been forced inside one evening during the recent warm weather, due to the smell caused by a neighbouring farmer spreading manure over his fields. This Rob /Bob fella, I forget exactly what his name was now, complained in a rather nondescript but nasal and whinnying accent that he had been deterred from drinking Pimm's with some of his visitors in the garden over the bank holiday because of the reeking stench and he was of the opinion that people living close to farmland should be informed by farmers when they are planning their muck spreading.

Lovely heap of dung

Me and Charlie were besides ourselves and immediately reached for our phones to give Radio Devon a call but it turns out other people throughout the county were similarly vexed by this bloke's highly contentious assertation as the switchboard was jammed. Young Justin. old master of the radio phone-in  that he is, was soon taking calls from all over and I am glad to say that there was not a single call in support for Rob from Braunton and his evidently singular point of view.
Later on Stokey and I wobbled along to Braunton as I needed to go to  Slee's Home Hardware for some tomato canes. Job done, we settled into the Mariners where we were able to better establish the facts of the matter. Apparently this blow-in bloke lives up Higher Park Road way which backs onto Park Farm. We had an inkling that this would be the case as the Farm is pretty close into Braunton and due to it's being a rather tumbledown place and a true working farm it has, in the past come in from some criticism from the residents of the Higher Park Road area.  I recall that a good portion of it is a private road and the folk up there are always keen to stress this fact one way or another in order to underline their exclusivity. Many of them are of the type who don't ever lack something to say about anything.
Over the years I've done a few jobs up at the farm for Michael Chugg and his mother and I can tell you that it's bleddy hard work keeping a farm going in this day and age and I have nothing but admiration for the Chuggs who are still intent on making a brave fist of it. The last thing they need is some jumped up, retired civil servant/police officer meddling type giving them grief on local radio. Besmirching their hardy endeavours.
As the week drew on muck spreading and associated activities became the hot topic on Justin's programme and it heartens me to relay that by Wednesday the bloke had largely become an object of ridicule.
That Thursday I was in the library and by some miracle or another I had actually managed to nab the copy of the Journal before anyone else snaffled it away and I was able to read the Chugg's side of the story. To say the least it turns out that were rather aggrieved to find themselves at the centre of such a raging media storm as I know they do like to keep themselves to themselves, to just get on with things. They were also rather perplexed that a so-called neighbour had instigated such a meddle and caper as they will always lend a hand when someone needs a tractor for a tow or some errant wildlife needs to be dispatched quickly and cleanly. They always were under the impression that they had a good rapport with their neighbours. Mrs Chugg went on to say that what distressed her most was the fact that people thought the smell was caused because they were using chemicals, when in fact it was nothing more than well rotted-down dung, good wholesome organic matter. The smell of which she admitted is not to everyone's liking but you know if you live in the country you have to expect such hearty odours from time to time.
This way of thinking seemed to be echoed by other residents within the vicinity who were surprised at the complaints and responded to the Journal's enquiries with the comments such as "it's a load of old bunkum" and "you live in the countryside, what do you expect?" And "It is just ridiculous that someone would complain about this – if you don't like it, go and live in a city where there might be much worse smells."
My thoughts entirely.

North Devon bathed in star light.

During the month of April down here in glorious North Devon not only were we  bathed in golden sunshine we also had the good fortune to be bathed in star light. In all my days I have never seen so many stars illuminating the area, we have been truly awash with them, bathing in their associative residual lustre.
Things started right at the beginning of the month with the dissemination of a wild rumour that Prince William, the soon to be Duke of Cambridge, no less was spending his stag weekend in the area .

Not Prince William at Spekes Mill Mouth

Due to the time of year I put it down to an April fool. However the story was soon verified in both the Gazette and the Journal by some local surfers who had been approached by George Stukely scion of Hartland landed gentry, to keep an eye on a couple of lads who were surfing down at Spekes Mill Mouth who apparently weren't that much cop, 'floaters". These 'cheps' turned out to be the Windsor lads and their party. I suppose the T-shirts would hev been proof enough. 'Will's Stag Do - Clovelly 2011'. They were also spied at Barnstaple Station standing with assorted boxes of booze waiting for a mini-van to take 'em up along the A39 Straw hats on, lurid sunglasses, cargoe shorts and flip flops. The obligatory male attire for a weekend in the Westcountry. To my way of thinking it was a bleddy good job that the local boardriders were pressed into service as I know for a fact that it is a wicked break down there in those parts and there are also some treacherous rip tides. Bleddy daft really. Who knows what could have happened if they'd been entangled in one of those. They'd have been dragged under, towed around the rocks and then whisked out to sea never to be seen again. Blimey what a stir that would hev caused. That would have really put a spanner in the works. No groom no best man and I reckon they would have cancelled the back holiday and all. Which would have been a crying shame. Good job they didn't take James Cracknell along with 'em totherwise they really would have been in trouble.

Friend of North Devon

Selassie's seat in St Nectans Church

I suppose their choice of Hartland may have been partly influenced by the fact that Haile Selassie also stayed at Hartland and knowing that public schoolboys like a bit of reggae and affecting Rastafarian mannerisms I'm sure that that must have been a factor in Prince Harry's search for the perfect location. No doubt on the Sunday morning they popped up to St Nectans Church and payed homage to The Mighty Lion of Judah chilling on the seat that HIM Jah Rastafari himself once sat on. I know this as some of my old mates from my Bristol days, Ras Kayne Sham and Clifton 'one ton' Ashton who in the seventies acted as extras in a number of films shot in the locality always popped along to pay their respects. Back in the day they even  had a Rasta party in Hartland Village Hall where legendary West Country reggae artistes Black Roots took to the stage. I believe that Will's great Grandmother, Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, bless her, also had a fondness for easy listening pop reggae melodies.

Heidi and Liz a shared mutual love of scones

Later that very same week the Journal reported another local connection with royalty this time of the Hollywood variety following the untimely demise of legendary queen of the silver screen Liz Taylor. Turns out our Liz had a friend Heidi who lives in Chawleigh who had been sending her Xmas cards for the last 40 years. Apparently Liz confided in her friend the last time they met, which I think was 1961, that she had a fondness for pasties and clotted cream. So in due course our maid Heidi Her friend went onto to rue the fact that she had, in all those years, never got around to inviting her down to Devon for a proper cream tea and a pasty supper. Of course it is too late now. However, the Chawleigh woman was able to help out Ms Taylor when she'd heard that one of her dogs had passed away she sent a letter to her explaining that since her dog had just had a litter of puppies she would honour Miss Taylor's dog by naming the puppies after some of the roles that she had undertaken during her long and illustrious career. I think she may have had to name them after husbands and all as they can't all have been called Cleopatra.
I'm sure Liz went to her grave happy in the knowledge that the people of North Devon would be able to share in such fond memories

Bergerac keen to get to grips with local villains. 

 

 

Later that week I met my cousin Kenny in the Marshals for a jar or two. He'd come up from Holsworthy for the day to go to a farm auction at Harepie as he is a keen collector of antiquated agricultural machinery.  He was in high spirits no doubt buoyed by having successfully bid on a nineteen thirties Tucker & Turner threshing machine, a very rare T&T 75 model no less, so he was full of the goings on down his part of the world and once he got going there was no stopping him. It turns out that on the previous Saturday he'd been to see the Holsworthy Players annual review and the surprising thing was that John Nettles, Bergerac as you may recall and latterly Inspector Barnaby off of Midsommer Murders was in the cast! Blimey he's come down a peg or two. I suppose though he must have wanted to live in a more diverse community than Jersey and Midsommer Norton so he up sticks and moves to Pyeworthy. I told Kenny that if that was the case then he'd better keep an eye on his insurance premiums as now that bugger Nettles is in the area the crime rates would be bound to sore as trouble follows that fella around like a bad smell. Not that they'd notice that much down those parts. Still at least he's putting something back into the area which is more than can be said for a lot of blow ins. Though I do hear he is actually Cornish. So I suppose depending what side he gets out of bed of a morning he's come home.

Inspirational

And so it goes on... the very next morning back in the Marshals for a Thursday Lunch Club meeting I couldn't help but notice a rather nervy, pallid looking young fella at the bar nursing a large whisky. He wasn't the sort we normally get in there, especially at that time of the day. First off I don't know why but I thought it was the chef Gary Rhodes but as soon as Annie Cawood walked in and spied him she put me right. It was none other than Gareth Malone from BBC2's The Choir. I knew it was Gary somebody or another. Annie was beside herself with excitement she's his number one fan and after necking down a swift barley wine she went up to him and told him this several times. Ian Stokey who has seen the programme told me that he is the thinking woman's crumpet and all the ladies love him. Don't know about that he looked a bit dunked Cornish wafer to me. Just as Annie was getting Mr Malone to sign her ample bosom a rather hassled young lady stormed into the pub complete with headphones, mic and other cables dragging behind her. She barged poor Annie out of the way grabbed Gary's Whisky, slammed it on the bar and frogmarched him out of the pub. A few minutes later she was back in again this time she made us an offer we couldn't refuse . She'd put a few quid behind the bar if we trundled along to the pannier market in order to lend a bit of local color to the proceedings. Fair enough so off we went.

Spot the old lady who always gets down the front

We arrived in the Pannier Market where a stage was set up and there was already quite a crowd there. Mind you what Stokey said turned out to be true as, apart from some of my old mates from the Barnstaple Male Voice Choir,  the audience consisted exclusively of ladies of a certain age, cooing and billing about what a marvelous inspiration the chap was and how he turns people's lives around. After being jostled and poked by mobility scooters and wheelchairs all assuming their right to get to the front, especially that rather grand woman in the wheelchair who is always photo'd on these affairs right at the front. I have to say though that you could not failed to be impressed by the choir Gary had formed with the wives and partners of servicemen down at Chivenor. Their version of sweet child of mine was truly inspirational.You should keep an eye open when it comes on, BBC2 it is, sometime in the Autumn. We're the mob at the back merrily gurning away.

Neil Morrissey - bad joke

The Reform adds to it's celebrity clientele

 A few days later I was in the Rolle Quay having a pint having a look out for the wild coypu when I got a text from my ex common law brother in law Michael him of ferret fame to get over to the reform as soon as as Neil Morrissey from TV's 'Men Behaving Badly' which being a great fan of the work of Lesley Ash I caught from time to time, was in there. First off,  I thought he met Morrissey the singer but one of the lads at the bar put me right when I showed him the text as I couldn't make head nor tail of it. So using the new bridge from RGB I made my way over there. He'd put a few quid behind the bar and he himself was charming the pants off of Esther the landlady with his wit and wisdom and tall tales of an actors life. I only stayed for a couple of pints as I had to get on and get back down to Ashford Strand to get me night lines out as I'd be a fool to miss a tide at this time of year. Anyway, I heard he stayed there all day and polished off a bottle of brandy and by chucking out time he was way beyond burbling. I guess that might have something to do with the rather terrible review he received from the Journal. Apparently all he did was stand on the stage make a couple of badly received  jokes and yack on about The Reform. And to think, people actually paid good money for that. I tell you what, I have half a mind to get in touch with Queen's Hall and tell 'em the next time they want someone to do that I'd gladly put meself forward for a fraction of the fee. Failing that I'm sure Mr Selkirk would be happy to oblige and he'd no doubt throw in some choice anecdotes about sheet metal fabrication and the highs and lows of Barnstaple Town F.C's season in the Western League. They could probably get him for a couple of pints of Barum Original, a bag of crisps and a pickled egg

I realise I may be going on a bit now but I feel I can't stint on such a momentous month in the life of North Devon but I have to take a breather. Part 2 to follow dreckly.
Keep an eye for The Duke of Wessex in the Pier Tavern, Ilfracombe while his wife Sophie marches with local Samba band. The real Alan Titmarsh, not the life size cut out down at B&Q, visits Torrington. Alan Carr at the Wrey Arms wedding party.

Adder advice

northdevongazette.co.uk/news/adder_adv… via @AddThis My advice: cut a cross over the wound with a big sharp knife and then get a passerby to suck out the venom