Disappointment in the Farmyard

Unfortunately the rumours proved to be unfounded - our esteemed mayor was not given the honour of lighting the cauldron at the opening ceremony of the Olympic games. Some of the local villagers claimed to have seen him expertly wielding a sledgehammer amidst the dark Satanic mills of Septford, but on closer inspection it was a minor member of the council attempting to crack a nut. I hope he had completed his manual handling training.


More reliable reports suggested that the mayor was involved in negotiations to take over the running of Micronesia - in a government sense, not as an athlete -, a country which naturally lends itself to micro-management. The islands would look beautiful draped in corporate colours, and their location would only add marginally to travel expenses if we had a fleet of micro-lights at our disposal.


However, I have more pressing concerns at present, trying to calm my sheep after all the excitement of the ceremony. They loved listening to "Land of my Fathers" but were traumatised by "Tiger Feet". I had quite a job trying to coax them back into the waggon for the long journey home to Septford, and my borderline Collie was not much help because she was inappropriately interested in the copper pots.


On a more positive note, it was great to catch up with my old friend Isambard Kingdom Brunel, who frequently stood by my side when I steered the Isle of Wight ferry all those years ago. I think our long chats inspired him to build the SS Great Britain, but unfortunately I never got the chance to sail her. Anyway, it was good to build bridges with my friend of old.


Meanwhile, work on the farm cannot stop because of the Olympics. We farmers and shepherds are all gold medallists in a way - we "podium" every day. On the other hand, the council tend to be meddle-ists, a cross-wind on the village pond, impeding the progress of ducks.