I can’t go into the details too much for very serious legal reasons but I heard recently about a couple who moved into a house next to playing fields — and then made complaints about children playing on those same fields.
I know, the absurdity, the foolishness. You’d think this kind of scenario would be unique, but it does happen quite often in our area I think. People have ideas and expectations of what their life might be like living in this rural backwater before they set up camp, but then find reality is a little different.
Other examples include village residents complaining about the noise and smell coming from nearby farms. A miss-guided councillor from the north of the district even went as far a few years as to stay farms shouldn’t be near villages these days. What craziness.
My personal favourite is when people new to the dales question why there are teenagers driving big tractors and trailers into the early hours around silage time.
It also amuses me when people in Catterick Garrison ask on social media what the loud bangs were they just heard. What could it be that they heard while living on the UK’s biggest Army base?
It’s like moving to Richmond and questioning the Georgian architecture and all the cultural events. “I was furious to be woken from my afternoon sleep by the sound of orchestral music coming from the Influence Church”.
Anyway, let’s talk about school proms. First there were proms for people leaving sixth form, then they had them for school leavers who had just finished their GCSEs. Now, primary school children and even toddlers leaving nursery get a leavers’ disco to celebrate moving on. I’ll be honest, I’m jealous. Back in the 90s when we left school, we were lucky if we got to enjoy a couple of bottles of warm Castaway in the auction mart. It was a similar story when we left secondary school.
The youngest boy has just had his year 11 leavers’ bash. It’s the teacher I feel sorry for. If it’s not enough they have to get them to knuckle down and do some studying for their exams, the results of which could well determine the future of the teachers’ careers never mind the kids, they then have to turn into Peter Stringfellow when it’s all done to organise an ideally alcohol-free glitzy party. The big winner out of this is Next which had run out of changing room space the day our lad got his three-piece. £150 on a suit he’ll never wear again, unless a close family member doesn’t make it through the summer. Thankfully, he took it off before things got, er, boisterous at the after-prom party.
Comments are closed.
It isn’t new: 45 years ago, when I lived in a village in Norfolk, neighbours complained because there was a horse in the field next to their house.