It is time I introduced some of the more colourful people in the yard. Let’s start with Lolek and Bolek, consisting of a father/son duo. We can never decide on who is Lolek and who is Bolek. To end all confusion I’ll call the father Lolek and the son Bolek.
Lolek was a teenager during WWII (maybe even WWI) and he is full of antidotes on farming and keeping horses. “Back in the old days when double/triple/quadruple mouldboard ploughs where pulled by horses in former Eastern Germany…………” Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Bolek should be settling down comfortably into early middle age with a wife and three kids. He is the chairman of our riding club, sometimes also referred to as Mr President. Actually he was bullied into it by a bunch of bossy females, who take delight in the poor sods’ trembles every time he has to hold a speech. He tries his best, but his constant “one might”, “one could” and “one ought to” also doesn’t do him any favours in the girlfriend department. Not that any potential wife has ever passed the scrutiny tests of Lolek. So the poor sod is solo, although rumour has it when he gets going with a girl, he really gets going…
These two own a horse with blood lines of the legendary Nijinsky II and Mill Reef. The animal is a beauty to behold and a bugger to handle. Bolek politely asks his horse to move around in the stable, the horse eyes him, takes a step and then kicks him. Just to make sure there is no retaliation, Bolek then gets bitten in the arm. You’ll find him groaning and moaning, propped against the wall in the stable. “Bolek, are you alright?”, Argh, ooh, hmm, yes”, “O.K”
Lolek on the other has no such problems, the horse gets told in no uncertain tone and he shifts. For a 76 year old Lolek is quite agile, still actively riding. I say actively because when Bolek gets on this strapping 17 ½ hand bugger, there is no telling which direction things will take. Usually the two just cool out for an hour at a walk, until the horse decides it’s time to move. Lolek despairs at Boleks labile character and will not save anyone from telling them so: “Back in the old days in former Eastern Germany where men were men and had ….”
P.S. Lolek and Bolek were a cartoon duo, originating from Poland. Apart from the cartoon books, several animated cartoons films were made for the East German TV. During the 1960’s they were immensely popular. Back in the old days, in former Eastern Germany…
I swear, I’ll visit all those places again someday and update the photos. Now I have a spanking new camera that does all bar the tea making, the difference is incredible. For the longest time my old Minolta camera was THE BEST. But who trots to the local shop to have their film developed nowadays? Mind you, with this new fangled technology, one does tend to go trigger happy and with most homepages; in the beginning it’s all fun and a must. But how long before all those unsorted photos just sit there and clog up your hard drive!
We decided to take one night off in a long long time. Actually we were invited to a birthday dinner. We left the old goat in charge, fully aware that he’s gonna get up to some idiocy or other. All he had to do is turn off the lights and lock all the doors. What does he do? Snoops through everybody’s stuff (I know he does, I’ve seen him at it, when he thinks he’s unobserved), then decides he doesn’t like the two saddle trolleys, belonging to two of our clients, stationed outside a tack door. So he wheels them both on a patch of grass and tips them over. Which how I found them next morning. It’s about time I ventured into the cellar and dusted and checked some of his books, not that I make a great profit on them on Ebay, it’s just the satisfaction that he might look for them one day.
He's broken a windscreen on the tractor, apparently the trees are to blame. All the trees in this whole wide land are located on land we cultivate. Nobody else has them, they are a rare breed. Especially when you're ploughing the fields, these rare trees jump at your tractor. According to the old goat, a branch lashed back and hit the rear window. Naughty naughty tree.
This country is going to the dogs, or in my case, it has already gone walkies. If it is anything like my dog, God help us.
This all started after inheriting a small house from my mother 3 ½ years ago, when she died. It is now rented out and that’s when Inland Revenue decided they wanted to have a copy of every sodding document related to the property.
After receiving several letters from our local Inland Revenue office and been given a date from them, by which I have to submit all required documents, I tried to phone them. For several days I dialled the given phone number. No answer. Exasperated I rang up the reception. The bloke answering couldn’t speak any slower if he tried. He tries to put me through to another number – no answer. He comes back on the line, “I’ll try another number” Result – see above. Fourth time lucky, somebody finally answers a phone at 9:50a.m.
Now I let of steam: First: you guys waste tax payer’s money by constantly sending me letters, queries which surely could be compiled into one letter. Second: you set a date I cannot comply with ‘cos your colleague buggers off on holiday and I am left stranded with nobody to answer MY queries. Third: In this day and age it is unacceptable that phones are left unanswered, what happened to these clever switchboard systems and all this modern technology.
So I get a lot of the usual excuse crap, overworked, underpaid, yeah, yeah. The overworked underpaid one then lets on she might be able to log into another data base of the inland revenue and retrieve the necessary information there, instead of getting me to photocopy roughly 100 pages of legal contracts and send it to her in a package the post office will charge the earth for. She said she’ll call me back and let me know if she requires further information.
That lame brained slow worm! She's got three horses, but does she make sure they get enough exercise? Hell no. Forever plagued by "feeling poorly", if she were a horse I'd have her shot. For the dish of the day, on a Sunday when everybody and their grandmother are riding their horses, she chucks two of her horses out into outdoor arena. The sand has frozen rock hard overnight, little blackie is quite a lively animal at the best of times, never mind he's not getting enough exercise. Let's put the vet on standby, shall we. If that horse goes careeing off, he's gonna do himself an injury.
Phew, some folks have all the luck. Both survived.
The old goat has done it again. You'd think after a lifetimes experience in farming, he should know better.. In order to stop him insulting the clients, he was sat in a tractor and told which field to plough. We are used to having the mirrors knocked off, number plates bent, rear lights broken, windscreens broken, you name it, he's done it. But backing into a tree trunk? Not an ordinary tree mind, this one had been felled. A dirty great tree trunk lying at the edge of the field and he rams the plough so hard into the tree that he got stuck.
Now this was a good 3 kilometres away from the yard, the old fellow isn't too good on his pins anymore. What does he do? He walks home. How about stopping somebody and asking if they'd ring us. No way Jose! (Or he forgot the telephone number.) Too damn proud. But we catch him wandering across the yard to the workshop. So he had to own up.
The plough had to rescued from the tree by sawing the trunk apart. Further damage to tractor or plough is not apparent at the moment, but I'm sure something will fall off or break in due course.