I’ve already tweeted about an adventure we had on holiday last week when, trying to cross a field back to our cottage we were cut off by a gang of curious bullocks. (Apologies that these are not the actual animals but at the time photos weren’t the top of our priorities.)
I know they’re more scared of us than we are of them, and the advice is to walk straight across without panicking. Ha! But when there’s barbed wire and thick mud to negotiate before you even reach the cows, and the field beyond stretches away for miles, it’s hard to stay calm. And they were bigger than us and very vocal. Of course we could turn round and go back the way we’d come even if it meant having a much longer walk… but that was when we saw that they’d somehow found a gap in the fence and were gathering behind us, lowing and mooing in a growing frenzy. So, what were our options? Hope someone would arrive and save us? Wait for nightfall? Just go for it and risk being trampled? What would you do?
In the end we’d exhausted all ideas so called the police. I know it sounds pathetic. A couple of Londoners wasting police time, but thanks to Jackie, who calmly talked us back out of the field, we survived the ordeal and I have something to write about.
Now Jackie, one more thing: can you just sort of this troublesome virus?