Serious Lancashire II: Get Orf My Land - I spoke too soon

Bought a spinky new pair of walking boots and was determined to get them well filthy. This time drove off up the Lune Valley to a little place about ten miles out of town, and yomped off along a route called "The Lunesdale Walk", tricked out with little blue plaques with arrows on them to assist with the choice of quagmires that faced one at the corner of each field. This went fine until about four stiles in, when the zeal for private property of the local farmers began to get a bit oppressive. The Lunesdale Walk could be clearly made out, but the landowners on either side had seen fit to demarcate the borders of the public right of way with some very solid barbed wire; the fences were, on average, about two feet apart. For a wide bloke wearing a lot of clothes, it being January, this was tricky, but Messrs Barbour did not let me down. I thus progressed about a quarter of a mile to the top of a hill, where things got rather more difficult. Ahead of me, I could see that the barbed wire fences to my left and right were attached to the same tall pole, barring the way. When I arrived at this pole, I could see that a gate was attached to it, parallel to the way I was going, and that at the other side of the gate was another tall pole, attached to another two barbed wire fences marking the rest of the path. This is a bit off, I thought, but nil desperandum. With some effort (at 47 and seventeen stone it is no easier to get one's leg over literally than it is figuratively) I traversed first one fence and then another, and was back on the path. But not for long. Ahead of me was the most enormous heap of shit I had ever seen. I have on many occasions described things that vexed me as enormous heaps of shit, but had not seen anything quite like this in real life before. The heap had been erected on the farmer's side of the fence, but, as is likely to happen with large piles of soggy manure, it had slid and spread out and covered the entire two-foot breadth of the path. Well, I said to myself, are you a man or a mouse? You've never let huge piles of crap defeat you in the past, have you? (I have actually, but never mind.) We can climb this, can't we? So I tried. Unfortunately it's not been any too dry in Lancs so far this year. My first step sank my left foot to the ankle. The second removed the right boot completely from sight. I could see this wasn't going to happen, and I had better let discretion be the better part of valour. I retraced my squelches back to the car.

So I didn't actually hear the words "Get orf my land!" but a ton of shit and about three Dachaus-worth of barbed wire speak louder than words. I don't actually wish a murrain on the cattle of the owner of Curwen Hall Farm, but he might be a bit more careful about blocking off public rights of way.