The village idiot...

You know I’d love to be a character in the Archers, that everyday tale of country folk that in so many ways reminds me of my childhood which is probably why I listen to it in the first place. It used to be all cows and harvest festivals in Ambridge, but that’s all changed over the years and now they tackle all the big subjects of the modern age from adultery to shabby chic furniture. Yes, they seem to have their finger on the pulse – those that are still beating that is.

The ‘nice’ thing about Ambridge is that things generally turn out pretty well. Business disasters are bailed out by rich relatives, evictions are put right by altruistic local toffs with the odd country house to spare, lost dogs suddenly reappear months later with no visible signs of real harm, and even the theft of the church charity money seems to have a silver lining bringing the churchgoing community (which is pretty much everyone, no playing to half a dozen worshipers here) closer together.

The fact that it is set not too far from Birmingham and yet there isn’t a single full-on Brummie accent doesn’t seem to bother anyone. In fact most of the characters sound like they should be living in Windsor, apart from a few who zeem to come from zumwherez in Zumerzet or zum zuch place.

So that’s Ambridge, a very pleasant place to live most of the time and as I said, not too unlike the hometown of my past as long as you didn’t look behind the closed doors. Perhaps my childhood home was a fantasy too or maybe the world really has become harsher because meanwhile in the real world life goes on with it’s share of unhappy endings caused by people who only care about themselves and would never fit into Ambridge - even as the villain in the village’s Christmas pantomime.

Sometimes I wonder what sort of character I would be if I lived in Ambridge. I’m sure that I’d be a much nicer person as there would be very few ‘bad’ people around to wind me up. I’m not posh enough to be a squire or gentleman farmer, not fit enough to be a proper ‘muddy Wellington boot’ farmer either. I could be a vicar except I don’t believe in religion and I’m a little too fond of beer to work in a pub successfully. Policeman? No. Lawyer? No. Doctor or vet? No. Knife grinder? Maybe.

Given the way that some people have treated me over the years the only role that I can think of that suits me to the letter is the resident village idiot. I’m more than qualified in idiocy terms for that, just ask my father. I’m single farmtrack minded, ridiculous in more ways than you can count, taken to flights of fancy, too easily taken in by charlatans and vagabonds, far to trusting, way too easy going, easy to fool and let’s not forget forgetful. Did I say let’s not forget forgetful?

Yes, it’s the village idiot’s life for me; I have my own straw to chew on and everything. All I need now is to find a village with a vacancy. Anyone know the way to Ambridge?