Country Life
I'm so bored, and I don’t mean bored in the "Oh, I have nothing to do at the moment," kind of way. I'm bored in the "there’s barely any point doing anything, as it's all the same anyway" dogged ennui kind of way. I fantasize about crashing the car, just for the thrill of it. Terrible, n’cest ce pas? But there you are.
So when in doubt – go shopping. I rang a real estate agent. "I want something nice, out of Auckland," I said, "but not too far away from the civilised world. No more than an hour's drive would be super."
"Have you considered somewhere north?" she asked.
Oh God, I thought. She's about to say Omaha.
"If I wanted to be neighbours with a bunch of middle-aged Aucklanders, I could just stay at home, you fool," I roared.
No, of course I didn't, but she got the general idea, and I had a list of properties to inspect. What sugar-plum visions of a country-life danced through my head! I imagined stamping around lawned vistas in leather boots and tweeds, raising free-range chickens, shooting guns, and making jam. I even put Roxy Music's 'Country Life' album on the stereo to inspire me, but unfortunately, none of the songs had anything to do with tweed, or jam, or indeed, the country in any respect, from what I could tell.
Anyway, so that is why, on the weekend, I was cursing the decision to wear heeled boots to an 'Open Home.' My god – the countryside is in desperate need of a few excavators and a decent landscaper; I almost broke my ankle on the bumpy terrain but a morbid fear of cow-pats kept me upright. A family of five was also inspecting the grounds – the children gave me some fierce stares of loathing. I have no idea why.
On the way home, I read an article about free-range chickens in 'NZ Lifestyle Block' magazine (the one with Sam Neill on the cover), and the article said vaccinations against salmonella were mandatory (for the chickens, not Sam Neill). Sticking needles into animals isn't quite my sort of thing, and to tell the truth, I don't even like jam, so am rather going off the whole idea, which is a shame, as the wardrobe options would be marvellous.
Country-look from Dolce & Gabbana (Fall 2008)
23 comments:
Are there any castles for sale? Or have all the rock stars bought them?
The countryside is hugely overrated and should be left to the cows and sheep. This applies all over the world with the exception of Lago di Como or Lago Maggiore.
Footrot Flats is real.
ok,ok i give up i will fuck you,that what you want
Wow, what an invitation from Peckerhead, er, I mean Peter...
Who could possibly resist such a smooth talker?
:oP>
Hello Peter! Whatever gave you that extraordinary idea? But seeing as you asked so nicely, meet me at Dida's on Thursday - 3pm. I'll be the one wearing the cloak of invisibility.
The country is noisy and smells. Just pop down to an art auction and buy some expensive landscapes instead.
Peters windmill is obviously tilting
Dirt and muck? Pah!
All you need to do, Mrs Smith, is purchase your lovely country lifestyle block dream, and hire a local teenager part-time to do the mucky stuff. That way you get the additional joy of exploiting the young for your benefit. Hurrah for the countryside!
There is a great development down my way, where you get your house in the country with wide open spaces, but you only have to look after a small piece as the rest is still used as grazing.
YOU don't have to deal with the nastier facts of dealing with sheep, in order to keep the grass down.
There are also contractors who come out and do all the tedious stuff for you, while you pay the country gentry!
Ha ha ha ha! I really enjoy the wits mismatch that is Peterquixote Vs Mrs Smith.
It gets better if you go to his blog. He paid himself a compliment while signed in as himself and she called him on it. He's ridiculously out of his depth.
He's ridiculously out of his depth.
If Peckerhead were a puddle we were standing in, our feet wouldn't even get wet...
quixotic andrew is quixotic, i sorry you and mrs smith not versed in litriture
I sorry you not versed in speling...
I'm feeling generous of spirit to Peter at the moment.
I've been doing this country retreat thing for a decade now & I recommend it. But Oswald's right, you don't want to be the one crutching the sheep.
Presume too that Oswald meant "play the country gentry."
But if he's right I can email you my bank account details.
"He's ridiculously out of his depth."
Heh - so you don't know who he is then Abbadon?
Actually it was Andrew who said that, not I.
As for Peckerhead, I only know him as a whackjob from the internet. Pray, enlighten me, is he some important personage by whom I should be impressed?
Because I'm not...
Heh - I was fishing, in the hope someone would know & tell me. But sorry for mixing the posts up.
I actually find him a kind of genius comment poster. A benign troll of the highest order.
And he said some very nice things (lucidly & grammatically correct - mostly) about a family loss I experienced recently.
His site's not so work safe though. But his piece on Tim Selwyn's sedition trial was priceless.
Thank-you Andrew, you are too kind.
Quixote does have a bit to learn from his namesake... Don't think chivalrous gentlemen from any era go around asking women if they want a fuck.
Bah. PC madness. I blame the gubblement.
Hey, I defended your honor too, Mrs. Smith!!
Ilew - Yeah, he's an odd cat, isn't he?
Okay, PQ, what's the deal?
And no, no one wants a fuck. Well I might, but certainly not with you. And I prefer to go about asking in a much more romantic way. At the very least one should send a dozen long stemmed roses along with such an inquiry...
Sorry, Abbadon, I thought you and Llew were having such a lovely conversation, I didn't wish to interrupt.
xxx
That was just me, logging in as Abaddon to argue with myself. Must. Get. Back. To. WOrk.
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