My Trip to the Farm

Monday threw itself at me early doors, which is not how I like to start my days by choice. When I was little, my mum would sing a song: ‘Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, I heard a young maid sing, in the valley below.’ That would never be me. No singing. No early mornings unless there is no other choice.

Sadly, this week has been full of early mornings and Monday’s start was for a blood test, which is not my favourite or my best. My new meds regime has rendered me a bit wonky, so they are keeping an eye on things. It’s brilliant that I am being looked after so well. I genuinely never expected to get such old school care and I am super grateful, but also eurgh.

After being a very brave animal, I decided that I would go on my walk instead of going back to the boat and slumping in a graceless heap. It was a proper autumn morning for once. Not too cold but a nice, crisp round the edges feel to the air. Patches of blue were starting to appear, but Canary Wharf was wreathed in mist. It made it look softer and more mysterious. Like something out of a Studio Ghibli film about a floating island rather than the rapacious nest of capitalist thieves it really is.

Wandering through the Isle of Dogs I saw a sign for Mudchute Farm and decided to go and have a look. One of my readers used to live on the Isle of Dogs and sends me excellent stories about her time here. She told me that when she lived here there was such a naughty llama living at the farm that he got expelled and sent away. She says it was to another farm park. My money is on a llama borstal. I was hoping for more llama hi jinks to liven up the morning on the strength of her story.

What surprised me the most about the farm was how huge it is. It covers thirty two acres. As well as the animals, there are allotments, nature trails and a park. It's a wonderful place and like so many things in London, it is free to visit. I had a thoroughly gorgeous time.

Sadly for me, the llamas were completely well behaved. Clearly there has been a re-education programme for camelids in recent years. I made llama noises at them (‘Mmmehhh, blehhh’,) and they quite rightly turned their backs on me and refused to engage. The sheep were similarly unenthusiastic. I expect they were upset that I flirted with the llamas first. There must be a hierarchy. The sheep had excellent horns and probably felt that on the strength of that, they should have been my first port of call.

I very much enjoyed the pigs, who were happily snorting about. All the pig enclosures had wallows and they were really getting into their morning wallowing routine when I arrived. My favourite was an extremely enthusiastic chap who was up to his thighs in liquid mud. He was enjoying himself so much he kept sipping at the surface of the muddy water like it was a particularly toothsome espresso martini. His chin hair was dripping beads of mud as he snuffled and snorted about.

Some of the pig pens are made from what were WWII gun emplacements. The farm did a fund raiser a few years back and converted one of the four back to what it would have been like in the war, complete with a replica Ack Ack gun. I wonder if the last straw for the naughty llama was him breaking out and trying to take some alpacas hostage, spraying bullets into the sky and shouting ‘you’ll never take me alive?’

There were some small, square cows which looked like they had been whipped up by a child on Minecraft. There were some excellent goats who, unlike the llamas were very keen to be feted and told how handsome they were. As with goats everywhere, I know they were only buttering me up in order to test how edible my coat was. I once had my blouse eaten by a goat at Drayton Manor Park and Zoo. I am under no illusions.

My favourites were the chickens, of which there were a great and noisy assortment. I spent a long time communing with a bunch of opinionated and very handsome bantams. They had all the feathers going on. Vivid patches of russet and emerald green, shot through like silk. Ripples of shimmering white splotches that undulated as they preened and pecked about, and great ruffles of feathers from their bewhiskered feet. They have to navigate their shoe feathers so carefully they looked a bit like they were being operated by clockwork. There was nothing about them I didn’t like.

After getting my fill of creatures I spent a happy half hour wandering the park and nature trails. I left the park via a different entrance and found my way to Millwall Dock, which I have been meaning to visit for weeks. Much like the farm, I was surprised by how big it is. The more I explore the Isle of Dogs the more I realise that it’s a TARDIS. It is very much bigger on the inside.

I passed groups of school children, drawing bits of dock machinery, sucking their pencils to fuel artistic endeavour and chattering away. Surprisingly few of them were leaning over into the water, risking life and limb. I expect if you grow up surrounded by water, it doesn’t have quite the same magnetic pull as it does for those of us who grew up in the East Midlands surrounded by fields.

I stopped at a cafe for a bracingly good cup of coffee and watched the world go by for a bit before going home to engage with real life. I felt like I’d been on a school trip of my own. The good thing was, nobody was sick and it didn’t take two hours on a coach to get home.