The city visitor, unabashed by the cloudburst on his first morning on the
farm, arrived into the haggard attired in oilskins. He grabbed a hayfork and called
exuberantly to the farmer:
'All ready to save the hay, Farmer?' 'I didn't know it was drowning,' was the
farmer's disgruntled reply.
The farmer discovered the city visitor holding the cow's tail to his ear:
'No sign of any milk so I'm ringing headquarters,' remarked the city man.
When the farmer's wife told the visitor that she was making a cottage pie he enquired
if she would need planning permission.
The city woman wondered if the water-hose was wet-look tights.
The cityman was speaking in favour of a movement in the U.S. whereby the League
of Decency were campaigning to have animals clothed.
The farmer remarked: 'I'd hate to have to design a bra for a farrowing sow.'
The cityman on the second day of his holiday watched the. farmer and his son sawing
a log with a cross cut. Suddenly he called furiously to the farmer: 'Can't you
let the little fellow have it, you big bully!
The farmer was at the market and his wife took ill and went to bed. She called
to the city lady to bring her some hot milk. The farmer returned in time to see
the city lady in the byre lighting a fire under the cow.
The city woman wrote to her sister in Dublin: Having a lovely time on the farm.
It's lovely to wake up in the morning to the quack, quack of ducks coming through
Deirdre. P.S. But I wish they wouldn't land on the bed.