I Love a Bit of Cock in the Morning

Own up, who started to read this because of its provocative title?

Wednesday 4 April 2012 – I have always lived in a semi rural community, I grew up with fields to play in and farms to help out on: for help out, read – annoy a farmer on. I’m used to the fact that smaller rural communities have a different focus than towns and cities, and despite having the kind of personality that you’d expect is better suited to the hustle and bustle of a metropolis, I’m actually much happier tucked away in a pocket of green.

When we bought our place in Italy people said, “It’s quite remote, you’ll be bored.'” Yes we’re a small house overlooking a valley, with just a rabbit farm, olive trees and three other houses in the immediate vicinity. But how can you be bored? There’s the local (aged) farmers that pass through on tractors that were probably supplied by Mussolini’s regime, locals who stop to pass the time of day as buzzards fly overhead and there’s the satisfaction of cultivating your own produce; nothing can beat the olive harvest followed by a dozen 5litre tins of extra virgin oil; a fine recompense for your toil.

One of the things that I love about being in the country is the sound of a cockerel welcoming the day with his crowing. These past few mornings, my day has started with just that, and I discovered yesterday that my neighbours a few doors down have chickens and a haughty looking cock.

Sadly today though due to the bad weather, there was no welcoming call from him, to softly rouse me from my slumber. So today I wasn't;t fooled into thinking I was over in Italy on our hillside, just shaken awake to face reality of being in a side street outside the city centre.

So as I sit here and type up today’s blog posting, and Marilyn Manson sings (sings?) ‘Into The Fire’, I’m reminded that life can be shit sometimes, so keep those fragrant times close.