‘I bet Brian May isn’t lying on his back in a field shelter wondering how long it’s going to take for the snow to cover him and whether the horses will just poo right on top of his frozen head,’ I thought.
Then, groaning in agony, another annoying thought surfaced in the annals of my resentment banks: ‘I bet Ricky Gervais hasn’t just schlepped a 30-litre container of water from his upstairs shower to a field of horses because the troughs are frozen and not refilling.’
Basically, it was tormenting me almost as badly as the pain in my wrenched back thinking about all the lefties applauded as ‘animal heroes’ at stupid awards ceremonies, just because they’ve posed, gurning, with a picture of a badger (not a real badger because that would eat their hands off).
‘Where are all the so-called animal heroes when it’s time to schlepp water to livestock in winter?
‘And why am I thinking all this when I’m lying on the ground in a field unable to move?’
I shifted around so I could get my hand in my pocket. My phone wasn’t in it.
‘Fine, so the phone is in the car. And the car is on the horizon, five acres away on the track. And it’s 3 p.m., and the farmer has just driven past in his tractor on his way home. And no one else is coming to this field until tomorrow. And I can’t move.’
These are the thoughts that run through your head when you’re not an ‘animal hero’, comfy at home in your celebrity mansion, admiring the lefty awards on your mantelpiece for cuddling pictures of badgers, toasting your warm lefty toes by your roaring lefty artificial real flame-effect fire…
‘Stop! Stop thinking about Brian May and Ricky Gervais.
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