Okay, apparently you do.
Sometimes Ewan can push a joke too far. This is why I am currently sat in a damp field in North Wales surrounded by naked farmers while they currently act out the highlights from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. Ewan being the upstanding coward that he is bolted into a hedge grove about ten hours ago and by now I'm hoping that he is dead. It is his fault I am here and it is also his fault I'm getting a mating display by a burly farm hand called Gavin. Apparently a kick in the balls is foreplay to this twat. I have never in my entire life been more uncomfortable and angry than I have been now.
It started a month ago. I was rocking a few samples on this old Casio FX14-0 when Ewan arrives to tell me his Aunt had died and he had inherited a time share in a caravan that under looked Snowdonia National Park. I didn't really want to go as my foot massager had just arrived and needed testing but Ewan bashed out the boggle eyes and the matter was settled.
So it takes us four weeks to track down the camp site by which time I'm busting for a piss. As soon as we halt I'm off to the nearest hedge to let loose. Little did I know that the neighbouring Farmer was going all 'Carry On Camping' with his misses on the other side and a splash of the golden love syrup wasn't making me any friends.
That's when it all kicked off. While I was running for my life from a disgruntled Farmer, Ewan has already been to the caravan to discover that it was inhabited by a heap of Strangers. A quick education in the notion of sharing time and Ewan was back in the car. Luckily I managed to Duke's of Hazard that shit through the window and we were gone, leaving our troubles behind us. Or so I thought.
It seems farmers are a persistent lot and what with all this interwebbing their communications network is a force to be reckoned with. What I hadn't reckoned with is their love for all things theatrical and that Ewan's van wasn't good for the 7.5million miles we were promised. So we break down. And then the farmers come. And then Ewan runs away. And then the Farmers get weird, very very weird. Then I die a little inside.
They promised me that they'd leave once the third act is done properly but I don't believe them. I've already been here half a day and I am already of the mindset that you should never wrong a Farmer especially one named Cuthbert Sinister. The rain has come and gone again several times but yet these guys insist on doing muddy cartwheels as a punishment for my disagreeable acts. I'm of the confused mindset and am hoping that someone will write me out of this.
My one hope is that Ewan comes to the rescue before I die with the image of Gavin's twig and plums being my only distraction on the journey to hell or heaven or wherever the fuck I'm going to end up. I just want out.
I've learnt three things on this adventure. One, naked farmer's are just as hideous as other naked people, two, holding in a piss for several weeks can cause extensive bladder damage and finally, it really is possible to put a fresh expression onto a classic work of art.
I thought I'd just jot down my final words before the battery on my handheld magic talkie thingy runs out. I...
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