It was just another field with a sign that said to beware the bull.
And as always, no bull.
We know there will be no bull. We know it’s a ruse from the farmer to deter people from their land.
Even so, before climbing the style and heading over the crest of the field, I scatter glances, just in case.
Still no bull — obviously.
From this vantage point at the top of the field there are such splendid views, stretching all the way to the far horizon, and to the river valley below.
So taken with the views was I that I did not notice, standing in front of me, was, to my surprise, a bull.
And I’ll tell you something, it was one big fucker.
“Hello, there,” I said, taking the benign chat option.
This bull didn’t look like it was having any of it.
If anything, it looked like it was ready to gore me.
Fortunately for me I was wearing my red cape that day — well, it has a hood so is probably more of a cloak, but the bull didn’t look like it was ready to waste time debating semantics.
The bull lowered its head, jerking it sharply to one side.
Front paw scruffing the ground.
Snorting – and I swear, snarling.
And then it came for me.
We’ve all seen matadors at their business: stupid and brave, but essentially quite simple work. We all think we could do it, if required.
It turned out that I could.
I’ve never felt more graceful, balletic as I wisped out of the way of that mighty creature.
Turning with it. Making it do my bidding. Becoming transcendent with my red cloak in my hands.
That did only work for a little while, though.
It did gore me in the end.
With one thrust of its huge head, the bull threw me a fair distance, enough to break a few bones.
I’ve never had a hospital stay as long as that before – not that I can remember how I got there.
Following my encounter with the bull, I felt it was my duty to leave a comment on the community Facebook page, saying that there is actually a bull in the field, despite the sign. An actual bull.
To accompany the comment, I was going to put a photo of myself in the hospital bed, but decided instead on a photo of Paul McGann throwing his shopping in the air.
vss #54
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Phillip Drown 