Band: McFly
Title: If They Were Farmers...
Author: Fee
Genre: Comedy
Parts: 1/1
Slash/Non Slash: Surprisingly NON slash.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Don't own, didn't happen! But I do own the characters and plot.
Warnings: Cheeseyness, haha
Summary: If the members of McFly were farmers, it still probably wouldn't go like this...
Author’s notes: Basically I had to write an essay in like, 2004 entitled 'An Irish Sense of Humour' and I wrote this, well, minus McFly...
Dedications: Emily, Louise, Sara and Erin, those who have inspired, even though I haven't been on here in like... months. and of course everyone who reads and replies, haha

If they were famers

In the region of East Anglia, a farmer named Harry Judd slaved over his land day in day out. Like any other farmer, he couldn’t contemplate a life outside of his fields. Every morning, he woke before the suns rays emitted any real threat to the shadows of night. He was out in his fields as the light hearted children skipped to school. Yet he only said good night to his sheep and cows when the very same children were being tucked into their little beds. He was working every possible hour of every possible day to pay for a new tractor as his last one had an accident in a bog and was unable to persevere. He had his heart and soul set on buying the new ‘Cheetah’ model. So with this target in mind he bound himself to his plot of land.
When the time came that Harry had saved up enough money to buy himself his new tractor, he was ecstatic- to say the least. He took his first day away from his land for the occasion. So early on a sleepy Saturday morning he commenced his venture to ‘Tractors ‘R’ Us’ in the nearby town. Several hours later he arrived at his destination, where in a grand display stood his precious tractor. He stood before it, in awe and feeling unworthy. It’s polished, sleek, metallic surface was glinting desirably under the sun. He would indeed be the coolest farmer in the whole county if he possessed such a grand tractor, nobody could doubt. So in great, gibbering excitement, Harry approached the sales clerk. But in his ecstasy, he could only talk nonsense. From the jumping and pointing, the baffled sales man could only presume the babbling man wanted the new ‘Sports Edition Cheetah’. So driving back to his farm in his pride and joy he was over the moon.
The rapt farmer was driving his cherished tractor home when he saw another tractor in the near distance. As he came closer to the shiny vehicle, he immediately noticed the similarity between his tractor and the on coming one. As he drew up beside it he realised that it was indeed the same. He was devastated that this ubiquitous farmer had the same prized tractor as he did! He now had a rival of wheels. Glaring at the other farmer he recognised the dark locked man as Daniel Jones from his neighbouring town. Shock and dismay was also plastered across Danny’s freckled face. He too was proud of his new tractor and was not impressed that Harry had the same model. Danny revved his engine threatening Harry, who’s ego was not to allow this pass him by. He returned the threat while continuously glowering at his opponent. The race was inevitable as they continued to scowl at each other. A mutual agreement was decided upon as the engines revved. Simultaneously the tractors accelerated at sharp speed, leaving trails of gravel and dust in their wake. The fantastic tractors raced along the tapered road and far into the distance. Their concentration was immaculate and the slightest error could cost either of them their prize. The tension was equivalent to that of a grand prix race and the stakes as important. The fields containing white blurs of sheep rolled past.
Suddenly, Danny was forced to break, skidding dangerously to a halt with Harry in hot pursuit, stopping mere millimetres from the back of Danny’s tractor. Breathing deeply in recuperation from the abrupt halt that nearly cost him his life, Harry waited patiently for the innocent sheep to finish crossing the road. But the petrified sheep were frozen in the middle of the road. The obstacle’s hooves, it seemed, were determined not to part from the ground, in fear that the threatening tractors would dart forward in another attack. They’re eyes were wide in bewildered shock as Danny approached them. He began to usher the cattle into the linear field. But unfortunately the scared cattle mistook his attempts as another threat and started kicking their hooves creating a mist of dust. A young shepherd with a scrawny body and tattered clothes appeared from behind the low, rocky wall, his dark hair flopping into his eyes in desperate need of a cut. Dougie began to slowly herd the sheep across the road. He gently called the stubborn sheep by their names. “Come on Bertha, easy girl... that’s it Sylvia... now, now Fionnúala...”
The sheep slowly began to retreat into the field, clearing their path for their race to resume. Without waiting for the shepherd to reach safety, the men dashed away in their tractors.
The race recommenced with Danny in the lead but Harry putting constant pressure on his back. But soon after there was another obstruction to be swerved around. A grazing donkey had unfortunately wandered across their path. Positioned at the side of the road old Barnaby had potentially created his own grave. The old mule’s hair stood on end and his eyes were frozen open as the remarkable tractors approached. The farmers barely noticed his dilapidated body as they swerved passed the blockade. As the reckless farmers continued unperturbed by the horror-struck donkey, Barnaby tipped over as stiff as a board after suffering a traumatic heart-attack.
Onwards they raced, the ferocity growing as they came closer to Quahog, where the race was destined to end. Harry’s frustration growing as for the past three kilometres the country road has not been wide enough to overtake his antagonist. Searching in his pocket, Harry conveniently uncovered his lucky potato. Every week he would pick the finest potato in his field and he believed it would bring him luck where ever he treaded. Harry hurled the vegetable at Danny’s rear left wheel, causing the impeccable tractor to swerve off course and through the bushes running parallel to their route. Harry laughed victoriously as he slowed to a halt. He reversed back to where Danny had disappeared though the hedges. He peered through the tractor shaped perforation expecting to see Danny and his tractor lying in defeat. Instead an unfortunate sight met his eyes.
Beyond was Matt Willis’ wet, peat bog. Lodged in the earth was Danny and the splendid tractor. His face conveyed a distraught expression which even his rival, but fellow farmer could relate to. As much as Harry persisted for Danny to abandon his ruined tractor, he was defiant. He couldn’t possibly leave his beloved tractor here in a swampy bog for the rust to feed off. Harry resolved to go to the village for help.
He reached the village of Quahog and entered Murphy’s pub. He rushed his friend and neighbour, Tom, out of the pub, with his pint still in his clutches. Jumping into his tractor, Harry directed Tom to follow him. So they hurried back to where Danny was still sitting in a state of dismay and shock. Danny was still adamant that he would not leave his tractor. Tom was just getting out of his car with his Guinness while Danny was insisting on staying. Just then, Danny noticed the pint of cool, black, chilled liquid and his eyes grew wide. Without hesitation he darted out of his tractor and attacked the pint. Alcohol was and is the only way to part a farmer from his tractor.