The two perennial bugbears of the countryside are dogshit and dumping. I will spare you the former, for the moment, but let me articulate my frustrations over the latter.
One metalled road which we walk almost daily, running from a rural lane up to the ridge of the downs, is regularly used by persons unknown to dump anything which irks them.
In the last few months, their cast-outs have included a large skate (fish) which rotted in a ditch, several bags of garden refuse, a whole palette of nails which were then burned to leave sharp spikes in their ashes, and today a couple of estate agents’ signs.
The farmer who tries to move sheep around the neighbouring fields has to waste time and effort clearing up this mess, lest it endanger her flocks. There is no-one else who cares, and no-one seems prepared to do anything to stop this fly-tipping.
It is bad enough seeing sporadic detritus from others who use this road, but at least they were careless during their travel along it. Whoever drives out of their way to hurl a rotting skate, bags of refuse, nails, and now those signs, is being deliberately offensive.