Heathen

Lovely walk round Ripley this morning, soaking up all the noble majesty of the British countryside at it's magnificent spring best. Couldn't help but admire the subtle delicate splendour of the newly emerged bluebells, contrasting with the now ever so slightly over the top yellow daffodils fading gracefully away. Of course it was all lost on me Dad, all I got out of him was "you stay away from that shit or you'll feel my boot up your arse!" Then we turned the corner and saw what for me has to be one of the most stunning sights ever, a field of around twenty deer grazing peacefully away. It was a beautiful sight and one that will remain indelibly ingrained on my mind until they bury me at the foot of the garden along with Mrs Snow and Stanley the cross-dressing guinea pig. I'm quite literally choking back tears as I write this. All he said was "it's a deer farm FFS, what did you expect?" He's got absolutely no romance in him. So I squeezed out a "three bagger" - knowing full well that he only had two on him, just to teach him a bit more humility. The heathen bastard.