Will’s World: Entitled space invaders get farmer-style blasting

At the risk of making certain close family members fall about the place laughing, I’m going to confidently state that I’m a very patient man.

I know this because, not only do I live with numerous females – meaning I must wait an interminably long time for a shower most evenings – but I also work alongside those previously mentioned close family members every day.

See also: Business Clinic: How do we manage daughter’s farming ideas?

Living on a multi-generational farm is a wonderful privilege, but let’s face it, it also requires more than a degree of mental fortitude (hi Dad!).

Last week, on a beautiful sunny day, when everything was seemingly going swimmingly, I admit that my patience was severely tested.

Actually, to be truthful, it was worse than that. I ended up standing in the middle of a field, administering what can only be described as a “total bollocking” to two complete strangers.

It all started so well…

The day had started perfectly. I’d loaded up the fertiliser spreader with nitrogen and headed cheerfully off to a block of land that’s away from the farm, to get some winter wheat growing.

It’s a bit marginal up there, but as I drove back and forth over the first field, I was increasingly pleased with how it looked, especially compared with the disaster that was last year. I was daring to dream of a decent harvest.

I finished that field and rounded the corner into the next one, and saw them in the distance – two humans and three loose dogs walking randomly to and fro across our wheat as if it was a public park, and with seemingly not a care in the world.

The thing is, I don’t mind people walking on this particular block. There are a lot of houses around there, and most of them have little access to green space. I’m conscious, therefore, how very privileged we are.

It was during the Covid lockdown that I really began to think about this, when most of the population were denied access to the countryside for months, and I’ve turned a blind eye to it ever since.

If people take their rubbish home and stick to the edge of the field, I’m happy for them to be there.

But there’s always a few that take advantage and ruin it for everyone else, isn’t there? Here they were, bold as brass in all their disrespectful and damaging glory.

I briefly considered strafing them with fertiliser, before the angel on my shoulder prevailed over the devil, and I sped off in their direction to “reason with them” instead.

Sorry, not sorry

You could tell straight away that they knew they were in the wrong, as they saw me coming and called their dogs to them before speed marching off towards the gate.

This only succeeded in irritating me more, though, and by the time I caught up with them, I was rather wound-up. “What do you think you’re doing walking across my crops?” I demanded dramatically.

“Oh, we’re sorry. We live locally,” the very middle-class lady in expensive wellies replied tersely, with more contempt than remorse.

Because they clearly weren’t sorry at all about trespassing and causing damage, just that they’d got caught, I let them know in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t happy about it, or their attitude, and that they and their dogs weren’t welcome to return.

I don’t like confrontation, and I didn’t ask to be put in that situation, but sometimes there’s no alternative as a farmer than a good old-fashioned “get orf my land!”.