THE CASE OF THE MOBILE FIELD SHELTER by Tina Irving

The snob suddenly had an urgent desire to get a field shelter built for her new horse, a lovely grey Andalucian gelding called Freckles. Well, he was her friend’s really but he quickly became part of the family he was so loveable. Factor 3 was brought in to design the shelter and advise on the type of wood needed. It was duly built. “Where are you going to put it” asked the guru and his sidekick mini guru. “Wait and see” said the snob. She called up the local farmer, a gorgeous man from Barrock. He was known as Man Barrock. He was very handsome. If only she had been quite a few years younger…anyway, he subsequently married the local beautiful and elegant blonde bombshell. By far the best looking girl in the county. They made a beautiful couple and went to New York on their honeymoon. The snob digresses – again. Man Barrock came down with his tractor. They hitched the field shelter to the tractor, and Man Barrock started to tow it up the field. It had been built on skids.

The village idiot was out fishing. It was a Friday night. The snob walked in front of the tractor, guiding the gorgeous man from Barrock and showing him where to put the field shelter. The guru was in stitches of laughter when he realised what the snob was about. Man Barrock didn’t understand why she wanted the field shelter right in front of the village idiot’s window. Only about 50 yards away. The long suffering wife could be seen frantically phoning someone. Sure enough, it was the village idiot. He flew in from his fishing, moored his boat and drove like a lunatic up the drive. He was furious. We tied down the field shelter and left. The snob, Man Barrock, the guru and even the long suffering partner were in fits of laughter. The snob was heard to say that she hadn’t had as much fun since her granny died – her beloved grandmother would turn in her grave.

“The village idiot was seen racing off in his car, not to extract his boat, but down the road to see the laird. There was nothing they could do. It was Friday night. The planning office was closed. Anyway, it was a temporary structure and could be moved. Result! The snob was all for going and unhitching the boat from the pier, but the long suffering partner thought she had done enough.

A few weeks a later, the snob was on Orkney with her equestrian pals. It was really windy, so they couldn’t go out driving as planned. The snob received an urgent phone call from her long suffering partner. “The field shelter” he gulped. “What now?” asked the snob. “It’s blown over the fence and is upside down in the village idiot’s field.” “Oh no” said the snob. “I’m coming back anyway. I’ll be on the next ferry. Get Man Barrock and Man Barrock 2.” “OK” said the long suffering partner, clearly distressed about what the village idiot might do.

The fence was flat. Fortunately the horses were incarcerated in their stables. The mad colt, Biff, had been a bad boy – again – and the long suffering partner was under strict instructions not to talk to him. Nothing. Except feed him. Don’t try and muck him out. He would get kicked. Off at a tangent again. Oh dear. Mind like a flea.

By the time the snob got home Man Barrock were there. What to do. The guru came to the rescue with ropes and clips. Barrock 2 and the snob climbed over the fence. The village idiot was watching through the window… not daring to come out and face the snob. The field shelter was retrieved and put it in a resting place outside the long suffering partner’s big shed. Lovely. “

1 Comment

  1. Tina Irving

    What fun it was writing that!

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