We went to a local farm this week. It's one of those show
farms like you see in inner cities for kids who think that sheep lay sausages.
Ours wasn't in some wretched post-industrial landscape though but in the real,
honest-to-goodness countryside near home in wildest Yorkshire.
And it was rubbish.
They had one cow in a barn. Just the one. What kind of farm
keeps just one cow? Perhaps they had loads but she was the only one deemed
friendly enough to be let out with children? Maybe the others were all
man-eaters locked away in a shed somewhere behind a sign saying "Take
Care! These Cows Do Not Play Nice With Others!" (notice how I stayed away
from the "udders" pun there? Even I have some standards).
There were a few pigs laid asleep in a dark corner, well
away from grabbing hands, and a couple of bored-looking donkeys too. A pair of grumpy
alpacas ground their cud aggressively, looking as though they were going to
spit bile at anyone who even looked at them in a funny manner, and a pair of
red deer were anything but timid, sprinting up to the fence as we approached in
a "give me some grain or I'll gore you" manner.
There were the usual petting zoo favourite - rabbits, guinea
pigs, pigmy goats etc. - and that was it. Apart from the meerkats. They were
one of the main reasons we'd gone, to tell the truth. The Beloved has had a
passion for these creatures for many years which occasionally reduces her to
girlish squeaks of delight. She's a little miffed that other people have jumped
on 'her' meerkat bandwagon in recent years too. Fortunately the run-down farm
was deserted so on this occasion at least she could chuckle and
"awww" at the little critters' antics all on her own with no
johnny-come-latelies to spoil her enjoyment. Mind you, it wasn't the world's
largest troupe, just four little meer-kitties huddled together under a heat
lamp. Their enclosure was fine enough, as with all of the other animals' just a
bit cheap- and cobbled together-looking. The entire place looked a bit sad and
depressing really and, like a cheap strip club, I felt a little demeaned just
by being there.
But…
Did I mention that we had our niece and nephew with us? A
very girly twelve year-old and a hyper boisterous boy three years her junior?
They saw exactly the same things that we did, they heard the same sounds and
they smelled the same smells. And they had an absolutely magnificent time. They
couldn't get enough of the small furry creatures, especially the baby rabbits.
They spent literally hours stroking and petting the cute and fluffy kits and
their parents. There were many cries of "Can I take one home, Uncle
Shaun?" and wobbly lips when I firmly rejected the idea. Time seemed to
slow as they couldn't be dragged away from the apparently fascinating sight of
goats eating cabbage leaves and their delight at the meerkats almost reached
the same level as the Beloved's own. Almost.
It was fascinating to note how their enjoyment of the place
differed so much from my own. I basically hated it. They basically loved it. Two
wildly differing views on the same subject.
I've been asked to review some books recently and have been
acutely aware of the fact that, while I've been doing this, some other readers
have been reviewing my own novel. I've been doing my best to be objective in
what I've written but all the time I've been wondering how the author whose
work I'm commenting on will feel if they should read what I write about their
book. How would I feel if the roles were reversed? How will I feel when I read what others say about my work?
Perhaps it's safest to just write "everyone's view on
this book will differ" and suggest that they read it for themselves, for
as long as children will love to stroke furry animals people will have
differing views on art.
© Shaun Finnie 2013
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