Geldoff lives with his companions on a property along a gravel road in rolling hill country.
It’s a lovely spot with nice views and has a great rural feel.
It’s only a few minutes from a reasonably substantial town and, in recent years, the townies have made increasing use of our paradise.
The rolling terrain, reasonably quiet roads and wide grass verges have made it a rural playground for many.
Every day, I look up from my grazing to see walkers, joggers, mountain bikers and riders enjoying our little slice of heaven.
They’re all very welcome, in Geldoff’s view. It all adds to the rich tapestry of equine life.
However, there is one user of these roads that really rips my underpants – well, they would if I wore any!
I said to Feed Woman the other day, “Who are these young turkeys who rally-drive along our gravel road?”
“They’re called Boy Racers, Geldoff,” she replied.
“Well, I’m going to call them Boy Erasers, because if they end up going off the road on our corner and down the gully, they’re going to rub themselves out!”, I said.
Geldoff was young once. He was a bit of a rebel and showed off to the fillies – all that kind of stuff.
I see the Government is intending to lift the driving age and have zero tolerance to alcohol in under-20s. Those measures may or may not help.
But do you know what old Geldoff reckons the real problem is?
They don’t have enough respect for their license. If they had to work much harder to get it – and that’s certainly the case in European countries – they would treat the privilege of driving with a great deal more respect.
As it is, they speed and fishtail past my paddock with their noisy exhausts to get their cheap thrills.
Everyone else gets to eat their dust and listen to their racket.
If I had my way, I’d poop on their bonnets.