Golden Meadows Homestead Seasonal Update – Bonfire Night at Golden Meadows
(Ed- You may want to remind yourselves of the previous goings-on at Golden Meadows Homestead first.)
Hello! Gerry here, bringing you another contractual obligation in the form of a seasonal update. You’ll be surprised I'm sure to learn that
I’m writing this from a theme pub in Twatt, six miles away from the farm, where I am currently staying courtesy of the renowned homebrew buff, Oz Clarke. It’s a long story my friends, and it begins towards the end of the harvest season.
Naively I had believed that once all the rotten, mouldy crops were safely gathered and continuing their stinking decomposition in my outhouses, I might actually have the opportunity to go back to London and enjoy a week of take-aways and cheap New World wine from Bargain Booze, but no, my Producer decided that the best way to finish the series was to showcase a grand finale on Bonfire Night down at the Homestead. In true self-sufficient style I was asked to come up with some “home-made alternatives” to fireworks and a low-carbon bonfire solution!
Remember, remember the 2nd of November
Well, sod that for a punnet of organic sharon-fruit, I thought: I wasn’t having any more of it. I raided every skip in a 20 mile radius for every last mattress and set of nested side-tables I could find and built a pyre 15 feet high. Then, after a couple of bottles of my splendid homebrew I spent the rest of this year’s production budget on a massive selection of pet-torturing fireworks. I can honestly say it was the most fun I’ve had since I got to this god-forsaken hell-hole of a farm.
In retrospect I probably didn’t pick the best time to take up smoking again, and was almost certainly too liberal and several days early with the petrol on the bonfire. Perhaps placing the bonfire so close to the gas canisters was a mistake, but now really isn’t the time to start pointing fingers and blaming people for who set fire to what. I think what really matters is the little kiddies who were so entertained. To see their little eyes lighting up for miles around reminded me what November 5th is really all about (or November 2nd as it was in this case).
Golden Meadows Homestead - a little fixer-upper
In the end I think everyone was glad that I was able to reach the pond before the canisters went up, and I’m sure that the various insurance issues that the Producer now faces will all be cleared up soon enough. I don’t think the damage to the house was nearly as bad as everyone thought at the time. Yes, one supporting wall is entirely gone but the other three are mostly able to be re-used, I’m sure whoever takes on the mantle of proprietor of Golden Meadows Homestead next will relish the challenge of a little fixer-upper, and good luck to you I say!
So here I sit in the somewhat less unpleasant confines of the Oz Clarke Wine Bar and Bistro in the quaint village of Twatt. I’d like to say it’s a lovely old boozer, but it’s not, it’s awful. They do, however, have a two for one offer on all bottom-shelf spirits so it’s perfect for my purposes. Luckily I managed to salvage the mailbag from Goldenmeadows, so let's get down to business with one from Penelope in Great Snoring:
"Dear Gerry,
I'm having a terrible time with weeds at the moment, but don't want to resort to harmful chemicals. Can you suggest any effective, organic weedkillers?"
Well Penny, my dear, I recently discovered a massive conflagration to be a highly effective weed and pest controller, enjoy!
Escape From Golden Meadows Homestead – Part 3
Like teenagers fumbling with elastic waistbands we couldn't hold back any longer. Here's Part 3 of Golden Meadows Homestead, and the gang are all pretty pissed now...
Welcome back to the mud
Escape from Golden Meadows Homestead – Part 2
You may want to just remind yourselves of what happened in Escape from Golden Meadows Homestead Part 1, although God knows Gerry would rather forget. He's still there with his friends down on the farm, and the homebrew is flowing all the more freely.
Gerry's back for more...
Golden Meadows Homestead Seasonal Update – Summer 2009
Hello, Gerry here again, and as I’m contractually obliged to bring you updates on the “progress” here at Golden Meadows Homestead, it’s time once again for me to find a spot inside this damp-infested hell-hole where my laptop won’t be dripped on so I can let you know what I’ve been up to before beginning a futile search for a spot where my Wi-Fi connection works. Ultimately I’ll just end up printing it off and getting in the car to drive the twenty miles back to civilisation to post it, the local post office (a mere 6 miles away) having been closed down and turned into an “ideal country residence with a south-facing garden, miles from the hustle and bustle of city life” and yours for a mere £600k.
Up yours, Satan!
Anyway, it is apparently summer here at Golden Meadows Homestead, although obviously only in name. We did of course have a brief heat wave back in June, which succeeded in killing off most of my more delicate crops before the weeks of persistent torrential rain, lightning, thunder and gale force winds did for the rest. I suppose the only good thing to come out of the apocalyptic weather we’ve been experiencing lately is that my cockerel, who I affectionately named Satan, was forced to stop waking me at 5 every morning when, with his usual gusto, he braved a monumental thunderstorm one morning, obviously worried that the rest of the farm would not be wakened by the artillery barrage that the weather was supplying, and found his usual spot on the rooftop just outside my window. Alas, his insane bravery was to be his downfall as a colossal bolt of lightning found his perch and left little more than a smoking pile of singed feathers. I couldn’t help laughing when, later that day, I found his beak in the bag of chicken feed over the other side of the barn. Indeed I couldn’t stop laughing all day, but you take your pleasures where you can down here at the Homestead.
Whilst I have heard that much of the country has been in the grip of a particularly miserable summer, I can’t help feeling that here at Golden Meadows we have something of a unique microclimate. It’s the sheer variety of rain that makes me think that. Nowhere else have I experienced the type of rain that finds you when, looking out of your bedroom window at a completely clear, cloudless sky, you decide now would be the perfect time to get out there and put some fence posts in, yet by the time you’ve got your stuff out of the shed a light drizzle has materialised and is soon followed by a persistent, soul-destroying hammering of precipitation that ensures you spend the rest of the day shivering, swearing and struggling to understand what you could have possibly done in a previous life to have deserved this.
Right, on to the mail, and now that we’re podcasting online we’ve had some foreigners listening in and some of them want advice too, I’ve got one here from Juan who lives just outside Madrid who wants to know if there are any British varieties of grape that would thrive in their long, hot, sunny summers. Well Juan, fuck you, my friend.
Escape From Golden Meadows Homestead Part 1
It's an incontrovertible fact that we all want to sell up, move to the country and grow our own veg. All except Gerald Wuthering Heights of course, but that's exactly what the fine people at Empire FM made him do, for your listening pleasure.
Join Gerry down on the farm!
Golden Meadows Homestead Seasonal Update – Spring 09
Hello, I'm Grerald Wuthering-Heights, and you'll forgive me if I haven't provided you with my regular update on all things sustainable, organic and mouldy for a while now, but unfortunately I've been dealing with a lot of flak from journos, listeners and benefit-thieving, bleeding heart pinko liberal morons over my latest series for Empire FM. It was a hard-hitting four-part docummentary about the welfare of shrink-wrapped chickens that are raised for Britain's largest supermarket, entitled, "Really, is Tesco all that bad?"
For reasons that I can't start to remember, mainly because last year I also harversted a bumper crop of worm-ridden pears which I quickly had to turn into my sight-restricting homemade perry, listeners of the show seemed to think that I was operating on a flawed premise. The premise was that the chickens were bloody cheap. Now I ask you, what in God's name is the problem with that? Aren't we mired in the depths of a recession that threatens to wipe out the disposable income of middle England? Isn't 75p a reasonable price to pay for the convenience of a scraggly, undernourished, water-filled bird who has never seen the light of day, let alone the supposedly idyllic free-range life that exists on my farm? I've got a good mind to invite the whole bally lot down to Golden Meadows in spring, just to wipe their smug self-satisfied guardian-reading faces in all the hideous mud and oomska my chickens wallow around in. I'm telling you, they've never had it so good.
Which talk of springtime on the farm brings me to a letter I received only the other day, asking me about lambing season:
"Dear Gerry,
Now that lambing season is upon us, I was keen to get your opinion on the controversial issue of docking lamb's tails. I have always assumed that it was an essential requirement for a healthy flock; however, I have noticed that certain breeds, particularly the Badger Face Welsh Mountain, are often left with tails in-tact.
Kind regards,
Phyllis Heatherington-Whistler."
Phyllis, I'll come clean, which is more than my lambs ever seem to do: I know next to nothing about badgers, mountains or the Welsh, because I make it a rule to steer clear of all three. My solution to your docking issue is quite simple, search for the question on www.helpmeimacluelousrookiefarmer.co.uk - it's saved my bacon numerous times, literally - and get yourself into town and into your nearest Kebab-u-like, and order yourself a lovely large doner, with extra chilli sauce. Cheers!