Carpeted for piling on the mud

Courier column for 14 February.

Carpeted for piling on the mud

The more observant among you may have noticed we’ve had the occasional shower recently.  Well, alright, more than occasional.  And more than a shower. Pretty much unrelenting, unremitting and unprecedented precipitation.  The wettest January since records began. And up to three times the average rainfall for the time of year.

In short it’s been rather wet.  And out here in the country wet means … mud! Lots and lots of inglorious mud.  In fact it’s so muddy that getting the Land Rover in and out of the orchard is an increasing challenge.  Only yesterday we squelched slowly to a halt, wheels spinning hopelessly, spraying a thick layer of the gooey stuff all over the bodywork, the windscreen, passing sheep, and the assistant pruner.  Fortunately we were pointing up hill, so I bunged it into reverse and slithered back, narrowly avoiding trees.  The tyres finally found some purchase and we picked up speed so I drove backwards up to the top of the slope.  Then it was a question of heading back down as fast as possible so we had enough momentum to get through the boggy patch and up to the gate where, perspicaciously or even presciently, last year we’d laid some hardstanding.

The problem is not just getting home.  It’s getting indoors without importing most of Kent into the kitchen.  And don’t tell me to take my boots off outside.  I am not going to stand in the pouring rain doing battle with the wellies and then pad through puddles in my socks.  No, it’s easier to clean the brick floor from time to time after the mud has dried. You can see, though, why the country etiquette of removing footwear at the door arose.  One farmer I know habitually wears boots three sizes too big to facilitate this. 

What I can’t understand, though, is rural people who have cream carpets. I mean, they’re just asking for trouble.  I visited someone’s smartly carpeted house recently to view a second-hand sofa on the top floor. On the way back I spied a large dollop of mud on the landing.  Concluding I must be responsible  I tried to kick it aside and out of view. While this might have worked with a dry cake, all I succeeded in doing was smearing a muddy trail over a wider area, and deeper into the pile. I rather doubt I’ll be invited back.