Say what you like about the invigorating properties of country life. I went on a nursery trip to a farm today and, if I didn’t know it before, then I know it now: I am far more Margot than I am Barbara.
Barbara
Margot. And that cobalt blue rocks.
It was a fun day, it was, it was, truly. And I love having quality time with my children, any or all of them. But please could this not involve mud, nor the need for ugly wellies, with that irritating sensation of my jeans twisting inside them? Please could there not be sweet (at first glance) little piglets rubbing their noses enthusiastically in their own poo and then coming over to snuffle through the bars of the fence?
Please could it not smell? And please, please could there be decent coffee?
Thank god I’m a city girl!
Oh I love the smell of pigs but am odd like that. However I am also far more Margot in oh so many othe ways.
Oh I remember you and your baby pig visit! so funny. Surely the most glam visitor they ever had
you know how much I do love my beach here, but coffee is DIRE. And you can’t get sushi.
Oh the beach! the beach is a different thing altogether. Juxtaposed with countryside, it makes even a ten-tonne pile of poo bearable. But I am talking inland countryside. No redeeming features!