Henceforth I shall be shamed no longer, for I have finally read "Cold Comfort Farm"!
True, the movie version is quite funny, & relatively true to the novel, but I should have read the original years ago - particularly because I have some (possibly misplaced) fondness for the sort of dire rural novel Cold Comfort Farm "sends up" so admirably. (I must confess a particular enduring-though-vaguely-adolescent preference for Mary Webb's "Precious Bane," & had several literary dalliances with various tomes penned by D.H. Lawrence in my misspent youth.)
Yes, I shall wallow in shame no longer! And I shall name cows wonderful, appropriate things like "Aimless, Feckless, Graceless, & Pointless" - though the only cow I have personally known was in fact named Chester. I also once knew of a goat named Clyde who liked to ride about on various cows' backs, ostensibly for a better view of the countryside, though I never knew the names of any of his bovine steeds. But that is another story!
I do wonder that had I read "Cold Comfort Farm" at the age of 12 instead of becoming obsessed with "Jane Eyre" (as is the uncomfortable truth of my particular biography), perhaps I may have become a cheerful, take-charge sort of heroine, like Flora - instead of the dour, withdrawn creature who currently pens this facetious review.
But as the proverb says, "It is better to begin in the evening than not at all," so I am simply grateful to have read Cold Comfort Farm at long last, regardless of how tardy my attentions may be.
(Hashtag "something nasty in the woodshed.")
This is an absolutely true story about Clyde the goat.