Wordsworth came over all poetic when he glimpsed a host of golden daffodils but back then they were quite rare. Now, scarcely a town or village lacks a massive public planting along roadsides and on greens. Stately homes lure the paying public with promise of daffodils and private gardens are stiff them. Slowly the spring landscape is being swept by this lovely yellow tide. It can become so all embracing that about now I find myself longing for a sea of pink or blue. Is it any wonder the word “daffy” has come to mean something a bit barmy? Let’s hear it for hyacinths.
Wherever you live in our area you are within walking distance of open fields and farms. Yet I suspect the majority of us, especially our children, know little or nothing of how farms work. “Seed time and harvest shall always be,” says the Bible but the farming year passes by most of us almost unnoticed.
So how wise it was for Cheveley Primary School to invite a tractor to pop in and let the youngsters quiz the driver.
Thus they got a glimpse of real modern agriculture, not the nostalgic, if glorious glimpse, we get at steam shows.
The thought crossed my mind that it was a bit unfair to blame the burglars who ransacked Susan Sheppard’s Fordham home. How were they to know she was visiting her sick husband in hospital at the time?
It was a very stupid thought. Burglars never know nor care about the consequences of their wicked work. They trample headless through life and leave misery in their wake.
Yet to stigmatise them as “lowlife” is a risky route. It is almost like saying burglars would be easier to forgive if they concentrated on wrecking the lives of fit young people.
Every time I read how the route of Soham’s Heartbeat Healthwalkers has taken them along Stinky Ditch my heart gives a little leap of joy. It is so pleasing to find one plain-speaking place name has escaped gentrification by dippy developers to become Lavender Lea or Faery Fallow.
I get similar pleasure when passing by Cuckolds’ Lane at Burwell or Thistly Gardens at Mildenhall. In fact I am seriously proposing a tourist trail that would take visitors to Ugly in Essex by way of Rusty Barns at Sturmer and Nasty in Hertfordshire.
I have a sneaking sympathy for Steve Drawbridge whose verbal assault on a ref has earned him a ban from his role as Newmarket rugby coach. Since soaps offer vitriolic verbal attacks as homely entertainment and little children in Newmarket High Street hurl foul-mouthed insults at one another and road-rage racers vent their spleen at little old ladies in dawdling in the slow lane, how can anyone know where to draw the line these days?
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