13 May 07

11 March 07

25 February 07

11 February 07

22 January 07

7 January 07

Boxing Day 06

26 December 06

6 November 06

8 October 06

17 September 06

13 August 06

19 March 06

There are few things in life that one could put money on, to be classed as a certainty. Death and taxes may be put to the top of the list and some may say an alcohol fuelled party in a nurses’ hall of residences may also only have one outcome. However the opportunity to go ratting on a farm whose chances of passing its ‘Farm Assurance’ are outweighed by the rodent friendly habitat provided by the farmer host must surely be up there with the best of them.

And so it came to pass, that as many times before, a collection of like minded ratters met up outside ‘The Spotted Cow’ for an eagerly anticipated revisit to our favourite battlefield. With a mixed aged crew and a pack of five terriers the convoy moved on. The excited tension amongst us could only be matched by the dark and tempestuous skies above. A storm was brewing and didn’t the Hovingham rats know it….

Starting an event at this farm is like putting a blind fold on and slipping into a hot tub; you don’t know how deep the water is going to be but whatever the result will be pleasurable. Drive one started as many times before, at the entrance to one of the farmers sheds that just happened to be full of treasured possessions. Terrier yaps, squealing rats and yorping stickmen seem to begin as if turned on with a switch. “Cathra” was first to draw blood when a stickman, renown more for his riving abilities and less for his IQ, lifted up some old wooden boards. As the shed contents were more relocated than removed the rats felt the urge to find sanctuary elsewhere. Unfortunately for them the well used exits had been filled in or blocked off and only heart ache remained. A number of enterprising rats thought they might out smart the more inexperienced stickmen amongst the team by hiding within a corn drill. However “Billy” had other plans marking and then dispatching the closet rodents, like a homophobic toilet attendant might administer justice in an open minded night club. Special note should be made of the follically challenged stickman who not only turned up to the meet in flip flops but also should not give up his day job to predict where rats may or may not be hiding.

The hunt then overflowed from the shed to an adjoining old railway carriage. The state of which might well have made Bobby Sands blush with embarrassment, as to its cleanliness. Rats clearly looked upon this site of special scientific interest as the ‘Ritz’ of places to stay. An amazed on-looker drew consolation to the fact that the refuse collection wagons were unable to get to the farm via the narrow and pot holed track. Again well organised hole filling and gap covering meant that few rodents escaped and the tally bag began to fill. It was at this time that the host farmer and local legend arrived fresh from his car booting expedition with his keen for work terrier “Millie” and a hat that cost him £2. The terrain was an unforgiving one, terriers found it hard to escape some minor flesh wounds as they battled their opponents in confined conditions littered with barbed wire and old fertilizer bags. “Coco” although improving with every event she attends at one point resembled a veterinary slide show presentation on facial surgery after road traffic accidents.

As with all good things in life, especially parties with Nurses, there has to be a climax before going home. On this occasion the finale came in the form of an all but empty silage clamp. The maize silage had been used and only the scraps, old tyres and plastic sheeting remained. The man made ‘C’ shaped, earth bund resembled a Romanesque fighting pit but instead of Phalus Erectus battling Norkus Maximus the terriers went to work, fighting the enemy that at one time looked to be in far superior numbers. Stickmen lined the top of the coliseum with a few riving agitators pulling away at the sheets below. Rats fled in every direction. The lucky ones found escape by running in numbers at the flailing, pipe wielding stickmen. Those unfortunate to chance their luck by trying to out run the terrier gladiators sadly breathed their last. “Elvis” took the catch of the day pursuing a sprinting rat with a sizeable head start just as it lept to the safety of a distant hole. “Toffee” patrolled the sloping sides of the clamp like a predatory groomer would a teenage chat room, dealing with the intended victims with merciless efficiency. Again special note had to be drawn to the successful way a certain female stick wielder and “Elvis” associate, put to death three rats in as many swishes of her alkathyne pipe. The Ninja-esque way in which she administered rodent justice was not only impressive to bystanders but must surely give her a deserved part time job in the West Riding S&M Club “Helga’s House Of Pain”.