Manure wanted

There's a sign by one of the allotments at Earwig Corner. "Manure wanted", it reads. It could, of course, be a genuine request from a person who doesn't have enough manure in their life. But I think it's a test. I reckon it's a cunning ploy to separate the townie from the country dweller. If you laugh, you're obviously an urbanite. However, if your response is along the lines of "that’s brilliant, I've got a huge pile of the stuff behind the barn", then you're a fully signed-up member of the rural community. Television presenter John Craven believes he's failed this test. In a recent interview about his role on the Countryfile TV programme, he said "I think of myself as very much a country person. Although I know I'll never be fully accepted. But I like to think, as we try to prove on the show, there’s room for everyone in the countryside" I think he's trying too hard. If he'd stuck with the brightly-patterned jumpers he wore for children's television instead of kitting himself out in practical weatherproof clothing, he'd have fitted right in.

John Craven suggests he’s been a bit of a bad omen for the countryside since he started presenting Countryfile. In his interview he lists some of the unpleasant diseases that have affected British livestock since 1989. Yet if Mr Craven is the pastoral black sheep, I reckon I’m the equivalent of a smiling Japanese cat with its paw raised. Since I arrived in Ringmer we’ve had a pizza takeaway appear, Ringmer Community College has had its best-ever exam results and the sun smiled on the village fair. No, you really don’t need to thank me.

What’s John doing wrong? Some would say the secret to fitting in round here is in the language. Forget about your alleyways, in Sussex they’re twittens. Middlin’ is a useful all-purpose adverb, verb or noun. Always pronounce Firle with two syllables. And don’t, whatever you do, say too much about being druv.

I’m not so sure. I think becoming part of village society is more about being yourself and not trying to impress. Leaning on a five-bar gate and chewing a piece of grass won't endear you to many people. I’ve not seen round here anyone take a deep breath and say “arrr” when there’s the smell of silage in the air. Finally, I’d recommend not trying to match Emmerdale’s baby-swapping gun-toting bed-hopping antics. That’s the kind of manure no-one needs.

First published on Viva Lewes 17th July 2014: vivalewes.com