The weekend of tourism in my little village has arrived, the one weekend in the year when the woods are swamped with fat kids who are usually glued to video games, dragged out by their moron parents wearing rarely used Hunter wellies into our wonderful woods, which happen to have bluebells in at this time of the year. This is the week of the year when the village earns the most about of money from people paying to park their cars in a field at the bottom end of Shrawley. £4 for a space and a map, and then they can all follow the signs round the woods and see the marked footpaths, the stepping stones, the water meadow, the tall trees, etc etc. Organised fun; like being told to stand up and clap at a children’s concert to music you would not be seen dead listening to under normal circumstances.

Oh yes you fucking tourists come and clutter up the village, why not throw sweet wrappers all over the flora, plastic bottles. Bag up your dog shit and leave it strategically at the gate entrance to the woods, someone will pick up your dogs shit for you; the dog shit fairy.

In a moment of weakness just after returning from Butlins, I replied to my friend that I would indeed, help man the car park for the walks. Being of a cheerful disposition, i’d gladly take £4 off the people and give them a shitty map (not one I’ve drawn incidentally, I must do that for next year). I’m glad that these bluebell tourists will get their fill of the countryside and go home basking in the knowledge that the British countryside is always like this, well I’ve got news for you, its much better that this when you lot are not here, when I’m in the woods with the Ministry that’s what the definition of tranquility really is. If you want to come and visit, do it again and park at the pub, walk your dog then have a pint or two, give money to the local community regularly. This weekend is also the one weekend in the year when the visitors don’t want to pay for parking, so they clog up the pavements with their cars, the pedestrians have to walk on the roads in the face of the oncoming traffic. Jesus people are cheap, really fucking cheap. I’ve been prompted to write this just now before catching the second half of my sons football game, as someone has parked directly outside my house on my verge and prevented me from mowing it. Bloody typical, I should let his bloody tyres down!

Anyway rant over, heres a picture of some countryside.