Last word from Wales...

On our last evening in Wales I wandered across to the field directly across the road from the cottage to watch the sunset.

I usually do this if there's a hint of red in the sky. Sometimes the sunsets are spectacular, other times slow to build, but they are always very calming and there's usually something going on in the field.

I've seen rabbits playing chase, male pheasants fighting, lots of sheep of course, and once there was a pig who had escaped from his sty and decided to have a roll in the grass. A few years back some wags set fire to the field just before haymaking - what jolly got fun, bloody idiots - and the air ambulance has landed here a couple of times to take some poor person to hospital after an accident.

This time it was cows, well beef cattle to be precise. I always thought that cows were pretty harmless, but that isn't true. Our farmer friend has had his arm broken and been knocked to the ground and trampled more than once. They are particularly edgy when they have calves as these do, so there's no way I'd venture into their field what with me being a stranger.

One of the calves was show white, you can just see him to the right of the picture. I watched him play with the other calves, butting and chasing them, leaping into the air and kicking out his hind hooves. He was full of energy and darted from one side of the field to the other. I couldn't help thinking about that children's song by Tommy Steel 'The Little White Bull'. I used to love that song when I was a kid. It never struck me that it was about bullfighting despite mention of toreadors, picadors, and matadors - or at least if it did I never made the connection between that little white bull and the cruelty of the bullring.

I stood watching the sun go down and humming the tune of 'The Little White Bull' until it was almost dark as the white creature careered around the field without a care in the world. I wonder if he'll still be there the next time I come, or will he have been sold on to raise for beef?