DOWN ON THE FARM

You know I was musing the other day - its good to muse once in a while, I even have a special place to muse, it's my muse flat - I hope to be able to afford a real one some day - but I digress, the subject of my muse was on the significant roll the humble farm has played in the history of rock, I mean you've got a work shy Bob Dylan whingeing about the demands of Maggie with her smallholding and Mose Alison not doing no body no harm - although it has to be said not doing much good either - on farmer Parchman's farm. Then of course the Stones own Brian Jones, he had a farm - and no doubt, just like Old Macdonald, here a chick, there a chick, everywhere etc....

But enough of my profound philosophising, just remember you saw it here first, the next time you come across the idea, your son or daughter will probably be being offered it as a 'media Studies' course option at the University of Posh & Becs or the Bluewater College of Shopping or whatever else passes for a hall of academe these days.

Which brings us about as sensibly as three point turn on a motorway to the coming weekend when we will be donning our green wellies and mucking about down on the farm, both at Bottley Hill and The New Rayners at Tythe Farm SC. Later in the month we're driving the herd up to Crewe for a Friday night out at the Limelight, then it's up at dawn and 'roll em out' as we hit the trail back south again in time for Sunday round up and a HOG roast in Dorset.

Better go, that pesky little rooster wants a lift home, lazy little bugger. But remember if I catch any of you Midnight Ramblers on my land again it won't be the hounds that are howling.

The Rollin'Stoned