This farmer brings the horses some hay. In a Land Rover.
Him and his missus. Bale for horses.

Comes down the drive in this spotless silver Landrover Discovery – a Chelsea Tractor. Twenty five grand, or two hundred a month at 19.9%.

They like hunting – they’ve got eighty poor fucking salivating dying hounds in a big cage. Big hunters.
Probably hunt all the time. Probably not just happy with swatting a fly – they gots to trap it, then feed it some fucking glue. Then pull it’s wings off as it squirms its last squirm. Red cheeks, dead eyes.

So, Land Rover, so, the gleaming penis extension glides down into our yard, and for some reason (well, I know the reason – because he can’t drive properly) he decides to drive the LandRover over the side of my muck heap (well, it’s the horses muck heap but I’ve been known to spill a few fluids there myself from time to time).
Now this is a big muck heap. This is a pile of animal shit and fucking straw and any other evil putrid shit I scrape off the yard, it’s around six foot high in the middle with a big spread of about ten foot. There are all kinds of evil organisms squirming around in the bastard, it’s been known to make hens puke – and hens don’t puke easy.

So, his car is now in the shit. Go iawn. And as it’s a Chelsea Tractor, it’s slipping around the place, fucking throwing up shit all over the side of the thing. Mature horse shit, all over the doors, thick under the wheel arches. Farmer is looking desperate in his skidding, demographically targeted, ecological monstrosity, caked in faeces.
Such a sight, a heart warming lost battle.
Posing car Vs. megalith of animal Shit, and shit wins.
Eventually the poor sod span out of the muck heap, turned around, enturdcrustulated his hands whilst fiddling with the trailer, then I paid him, then thanked him, then he buggered off down my drive.

My closing thoughts for this shit little story are these – Farmers aren’t immune from consumerism, and I felt sorry for him, but more worse sorry cry for his dogs.