Episode 31 – Turf Wars: The Bogfather Rises..

Today I find myself deep in contemplation – well, stewing really – over the turf. Not just any turf – my turf. The sacred sod. The ancestral bog-claim. The small plot of land that has somehow become the stage for one man’s personal remake of Game of Thrones, except with more grunting and fewer dragons.

Enter Bully Yates: turf tyrant, silence specialist and full-time land whisperer. I genuinely wake up some mornings and ask, what in the actual fresh-cut sod is wrong with him? Like, was there a traumatic briquette incident in childhood? Did someone stack his turf the wrong way in 1987 and he’s been seeking revenge ever since?

It’s not me. I know it’s not me. I’ve done the emotional arithmetic and carried this one – I don’t come up as the problem here. I’m just a person trying to exist on the bog lands I was literally granted rights to, while Bully stalks around like a leftover extra from The Field who is obsessed with who touched what sod and which boot-print crossed his invisible turf lines.

Honestly, I think he believes the turf gives him actual powers. Like if he stacks it just right, the spirits of control, intimidation and ‘Shur That’s Mine Now’ will rise from the bog and knight him with a rotten fence post. He treats turf like it’s sacred inheritance. Except instead of gold, it’s lumps of mud and instead of reverence, it’s rage issues in a wax jacket.

Sometimes I think he speaks fluent boglish. That’s when you say nothing at all but your eye twitch and gate slamming communicate a full novel of bitterness.

Anyway. Today, I stew. I’m allowed. But I also write because sometimes the only way to reclaim your turf, literal or emotional – is with words sharper than a slane and funnier than a man defending a ditch like it’s the Vatican.

Tomorrow, maybe I’ll plant potatoes on it just to be bold.

Lesson of the Day: Just because someone sits on a throne of turf doesn’t mean they’re royalty. Sometimes they’re just a grown man throwing a tantrum with a slane. Control isn’t the same as power.

Silence isn’t the same as wisdom. And stacking turf doesn’t make you morally superior. It just makes you warm in winter. If someone tries to make you feel small for standing your ground, remember – they’re usually just trying to distract from the shaky ground they’re standing on.

Also, never argue with a turf tyrant before tea. Or after. Or ever.

Questions: Have you ever met a ‘Bogfather’ in your life?

What’s the pettiest thing someone ever tried to control in your family?

If turf stacking was an Olympic sport, who in your family would meddle and who would ‘accidentally’ set the whole bog on fire?

Feel free to leave your answers below. Comments welcome, especially if you’ve ever been accused of ‘standing on the wrong patch of grass’.