It’s hard to beat Christmas in the countryside

Christmas in the countryside – what could be better? All right, at the time of writing we’ve had such storms that the swans are swimming across the flooded fields and we squelch through thick mud when we take the dogs out, but we hope the sun will come out tomorrow. I don’t just write about little orphan Annies – I’m starting to sound like one, too. But rain or shine, Christmas will be lovely, with a Christmas tree in the village square, shops serving free mulled wine and mince pies, a barber-shop choir singing in the real barber’s shop, and the nursery school children reverently laying Baby Jesus in his crib at Christingle. One splendid year a child memorably dressed as a camel kidnapped Baby Jesus and galloped down the aisle with him.

It will still be muddy, but I can deal with it. My designer clothes and fancy heels are so far at the back of my wardrobe that they’re practically in Narnia. I live in jumpers and jeans and Docs now, though I still wear my big flashy rings. I’m not a farmer required to shove my arm up an animal to help it give birth. However, I’ve caught my partner browsing Country Smallholder in WHSmith several times, and she’s a big fan of the Yorkshire Shepherdess. If she wants to play Bo-Peep then she’s on her own, though I do remember Beatrix Potter went from writing for children to breeding prize-winning Herdwick sheep. I have to admit that I can’t distinguish one breed of sheep from another, apart from those lovely Valais blacknose sheep that look as if they’ve been sired by Shetland ponies.