There are an estimated 22 million sheep on the island of Britain and I have seen most of them. My relationship with sheep is, how shall I say it, interesting. They often stare at me as I ramble by. Sometimes they run away from me as if I was a no-good sheep rustler but at other times they rush towards me as if I was Jesus tending his flock. My relationship with sheep is, I swear, wholly platonic.
Being under the age of seventy, and with a pleasant afternoon promised, I climbed upon Clint's Moroccan leather saddle and galloped off into the Derbyshire hills for a pleasant circular walk around the disused Eldon Hill Quarry beyond Castleton.
As per usual many pairs of ovine eyes observed my progress. They looked up from their perpetual grazing. Their lambs will be arriving very soon but on this mid-March promenade I did not see a single newborn.
When you are a sheep you are very hardy. Your life is simple and straightforward. You are sociable and you have no real sense of the past or the future. You live in the moment and you are fearful of the unknown - such as foxes or raptors or human beings who ramble by singing songs by The Doors:
This is the end, beautiful friend
This is the end, my only friend