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.