Liz Jones - you know, that woman you really hate from the Daily Mail, who is possibly insane and has made a career out of saying dumbass things that makes you wonder what world she lives in, yes, her - moves to the country and discovers that it is not an Anthropologie/Boden catalogue populated by charmingly-attired, ruddy-cheeked farmers and fluffily groomed animals who wander around needing a cuddle, but actually a place where people live, work and often don't have much money or worry about using the right eyebrow gel and sometimes it smells and the meat isn't organic! Heavens!
Hoping for a bit of festive season hate reading, I was actually pleasantly surprised by this book. Give Jones her due: yes, she's a batfuck mentalist, but it's an entertaining read* - sometimes for the wrong reasons - and she has an honest, dramatically OTT love for animals. Not being terribly clued up on raising horses and sheep, I found some of the things she had to say regarding rescue animals and the various charities designed to help abandoned and abused racehorses to be enlightening and depressing in equal measure.
However, taking everything she has to say with a sackful of organic Himalayan pink rock salt from Selfridges...for all her ridiculous coddling behaviour of her animals - and yes, I could relate to some of her emotions even as I cringed at her daft exuberance - this is the perfect tome to illustrate 'people who have an idea of how the country is who run away there and then discover that it's a real place not a pretty Liberty's window dressing'.
So the woman is an insufferable, moronic idiot, but she can write. Part of me suspects that after her death her work will prove to be an epically plotted piece of performance art, after which I will happily declare her a genius.
*I kept having to steal this book back from my sixty-something father whilst I was reading it. It was a weird cross-generational shared read, but fair dues Jones.