Och aye wee luds

Great Britain is the birthplace of many great things. Wimbledon, The Ashes, The House of Windsor and haggis. It’s been a great battle ground too with dozens of bloodsheds between the Kingdoms of Scotland and England. My personal favourite is the war of The Rough Wooing. Scotland and England had a tiff over a marriage that Henry the Eighth tried to arrange between his son Edward and Mary, Queen of Scots. Even the great 16th century historian William Patten weighed in on the war citing “I lyke not thys wooyng.” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rough_Wooing

It seems our Black Angus cattle know their roots. Angus is considered the birthplace of Scotland dating back to 1320, and as I went out to check on the boys today, I noticed a kerfuffle. The Hereford girls from next door were proudly displaying their rumps, frolicking even, as they made their way across the paddock. However, like most men, the stomach is stronger than the heart, and the boys were finding the lushness of the pasture far more inviting. There was no risk of Rough Wooing today. However, were the boys not steers but bulls, it may have been a different story. Bless their little Bravehearts!

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When in Rome

My gorgeous 6ft supermodel Spanish friend came to stay with us for the weekend. She was very keen to experience good Aussie rural life so I had the following on our itinerary:

– deck her out in a Drizabone and Akubra

– herd cattle

– drink VB at the pub

– do circle work in the ute

– mend a fence

We didn’t manage to do any of the above activities because:

– I am 5ft 4 and a half with a large head so the Drizabone and Akubra didn’t fit her

– the cows had just been moved to greener pastures

– she doesn’t drink

– she doesn’t drive

– all the fences are intact

Instead we went to the pub and she ate a parma while I drank the pot. When we got home we baked ANZAC biscuits. We talked about the ANZAC, international relations and respecting cultural values. As I bit my biccie, I realised we were in the midst of experiencing a good Aussie rural tradition: a cup of tea and an ANZAC biscuit. It made me think that if more people shared more tea and more biccies, international relations everywhere would be respected and as a result improve. And if ANZAC biccies added six inches to my height, everyone would be a winner.