Milking it for all it’s worth (From Daily Echo)

Milking it for all it’s worth

10:00am Tuesday 22nd March 2011 in Single in the City By Simon Carr, Eastleigh Chief Reporter

Milking it for all it’s worth

IT was a beautiful summer’s day.

People were drinking and laughing.

However, I could not join in the fun of the agricultural fare because it was all in country talk about the way a pig was standing or the perkiness of a lamb’s ears.

It was madness. Animals are for eating, not for looking at.

A man touching a horse’s tongue with his own to win his cooperation and another jabbing a sheep in the bottom to speed it up.

Other country folk persuaded me not to follow my first instinct and carry out a citizen’s arrest.

As I supped a revolting homemade cider to steady my nerves, I noticed how many country beauties could be seen earnestly slaving away in cute little farmer outfits.

I feared these attractive country foxes would not succumb to my advances unless I improved my country credentials.

Their heads would most likely be turned by a man who could plant a crop, lasso a goat and dip a sheep – whatever that means.

Perhaps I could milk a cow.

After surprisingly few inquiries, I found myself on my knees, holding a bucket and staring at udders.

I spent some time patting the cow and becoming acquainted as it seemed rude to just start yanking away without any kind of introduction.

The first squeeze fired a shot of milk straight up my sleeve.

Undeterred, I redirected the business end of the udder and ,with a joy close to euphoria, heard the smattering of milk on bucket.

After ten minutes. I had extracted what equated to a trickle.

I was told a proper country person could have taken a couple of pints in that time.

I squinted at the cow suspiciously.

I poured the fruits of my labour into a glass and put it to my lips to see a look of horror on the faces of the bumpkins.

A nearby acquaintance explained that unpasteurised milk could make people sick if they weren’t used to it.

I waved away these limp protestations and chugged the disconcertingly warm beverage.

Several hours later, the vomiting subsided and I vowed any future milk I consumed would come in nice, clean cartons from a shop as God intended.