Country living

I'm back in the country for a three-week holiday. I've rented a cottage about 8 miles from my hometown, Great Malvern. This post is about country living. 

I grew up in a small town. Not a city. Cows, sheep, horses were all familiar sights throughout my childhood. Our home wasn't in the countryside but it wasn't exactly far from it either. One mile from the front door are farms. Five hundred feet away are the hills. 

I was soooo thrilled arriving back. The fields full of cows and sheep (unseen around DC and even in horse country nearby). I took my toddler to a fruit-picking farm on day 2. Pigs, chickens, chicks, Mr & Mrs Peacock, ducks and their ducklings - basically, lots of farm animals that the toddler doesn't see except in story books. Geese too. Big, angry, beady-eyed buggers that hiss and bark - and chase small boys who don't get the hint. "BAD SCARY DUCK!" Hilarious. How lovely, I thought. I could get used to this. *imagines baking fresh scones whilst wearing a Cath Kidston apron*

The cottage is surrounded by fields. It's quiet and lovely. The sun sets late, so it's still light until 10pm. We pick plums from the trees in the garden and hang the washing on a line strung between apple trees. *more Cath Kidston and even an Aga* You get the picture. 

We had tremendous thunder and lightning storms a few nights ago. Insanely loud cracks of thunder and lightning bolts that lit up the sky for miles. I have to admit, despite my efforts to be excited about the "beauty and power" of Mother Nature, I was in reality peeing my pants. Cue Sound of Music "These are a few of my Favourite Things". A sleepless night. 

The following morning, the skies were beautiful. A few branches had come down but that was all. 

Walking into the bathroom, I came upon a scene from a horror movie. SPIDERS. Not one. Not even ten. MORE. The buggers had sought refuge from the storm and come in through the open window (I'd forgotten to close it) and made themselves at home all over the bathroom. It was horrifying. The only thing that might've been worse would be millipedes. 

Just as I was about to attack them with a large towel and shower head, toddleboy walked in and exclaimed "Spiders! My FRIENDS!"    I've taught him not to be scared of insects by saying they're all friends of ours and we are to show them love. So now I had to be an example of this and could no longer proceed with my arachnoid annihilation. Is arachnoid a word? 

Spiders here run the gamut of shapes, sizes and ability to scare the shit out of a grown person. Some float about, others scuttle. Some JUMP. What in the name of all things decent is that about? 

I explained to the child that the spiders needed a shower, turned on the shower head and did a rather grand Tony Montana machine gun, but with shower head instead, assassination. I sprayed the bath, walls, window and well, even the floor. I got carried away, one might say. 

I turned around and realised I'd rebound sprayed onto the child. He was naked except for a toga number made entirely of drowned spiders. Instinctually I turned the shower head onto him. Oh, the poor boy. He ran, screeching into the bedroom and into the bed. The bed I SLEEP in. After I'd coaxed him out and dried him off, I spent the next hour cleaning up the bathroom and bed. Vile. It was vile. 

Everywhere I look since then, I see spiders. The green top off a tomato? Spider. A leaf? Spider. That mark on the tablecloth? A HUGE spider. 

I spotted a spider on the bedroom wall the other night. I came THIS close to waking up the toddler to remove it (ie, accidentally squash it in his chubby, clumsy fingers). Instead, I moved to another bedroom. Brave move. Hm. 

All I need to send me over the edge and back to city-living is the appearance of a snake. 

Elaine.