The night before the music festival in Oxfordshire we had to find somewhere to pitch our tents for the night. We found a site at top of the road and asked the farmer/campsite proprietor if we could pay to camp for the tonight?
He reminded me of a typical West Cork farmer. He was more interested in us and whether we were interested in him.
We put the world to rights for ten minutes or so and he asked us what the BBC initials stood for? Before we could reply he said: " The bullsh*t broadcasting company". We laughed and he laughed and we had found another character on our travels.
I asked him if he would be going to watch any of the bands at the music festival? He said if Gene Pitney or Roy Orbison was playing he would have gone. He didn't like the modern music on the radio today and most of the artists can't sing!
He picked up on my North country accent and said to me: "Are you a Geordie?"
My friend and me laughed again and I said: "No Lancastrian." Perhaps he knew I love bottles of Newcastle Brown Ale?
Then we asked him if we could pitch our tent for the night. "Ok lads. But you won't wreck the bathroom will you? I spent a lot of money fitting that out". We had no problems paying cash at this campsite unlike some of the other one's we stayed at. He didn't ask for contactless payments.
We laughed again and we spent another twenty minutes in the morning leaning on a farm gate talking to our new found farmer friend putting the world to right and laughing