On Leaving Wyoming...

...A cheerful friend of mine who is a sound recordist for one of our treasured television channels once told me of his interesting visit to the United States in general and the State of Wyoming in particular.

He and the crew where there making a 'docu-drama' (as these curious hybrids of truth and fancy are known) concerning the rise and fall of a couple of English emigrants who, though but small fellows in their own homeland, rose through force of circumstance and personality - if not actually downright force - to become what was known in the Nineteenth century as 'Cattle Barons.'

Most of them eventually came to 'a bad end' in some shape or form, though generally still managing to quit this world - howsoever distasteful the actual event - with fortunes intact and with serious sums of cash to be passed down to descendants. (What in America is known as 'old money' one believes.)

My first meeting with Ronnie - our friendly sound recordist - came about because, it seems, one of these soi-disant nobles hailed originally from around these parts, and on discovering that one's humble self is somewhat of an amateur local historian, Ronnie was dispatched to see if I might have anything useful to contribute, either behind or before camera.

Sadly, it was eventually determined that there was little to gain for the programme from having me 'front a piece', as I believe the jargon goes, though Ronnie and I did strike a mutual chord which has, over time blossomed into said friendship. (He has even dangled before me the possibility of making an entire programme about the wonderful and changing life we lead in the Wolds. Kindly meant no doubt, but one was instantly reminded of that rock music joke - which has awful resonance regarding the place of sound recordists in the whole scheme of film making - "What was the last thing the drummer said before he was fired from the band?" "Hey guys, you wanna try one of my tunes?")

Anyway, cutting to the chase as one must. Ronnie had much to tell me regarding that magnificent, if utterly crazed, world of North America. Despite sound being 'his thing', he has a fine visual sense too and his descriptions of the landscapes of the 'Bad Lands' had me quite salivating with the prospect of venturing there one day with the large-view camera.

Of all that was told me though, this one point of his is much in my fretful mind this morning. They had been filming in Wyoming and adjourned for luncheon at a local diner. The menu was stark and reduced to its essentials - beef of any kind, cooked in any style involving naked flame and served either 'raw' or 'rare'.

Now Ronnie is a vegetarian. This is his creed and I have never cared to ask him for any rational explanation for this aberration. Vegetarians and Wyoming were not, it seems, a marriage made in heaven by any means. For enquiring of the waitress - a spitting image of Geena Davis apparently, which is nice - what she recommended for vegetarians, Ronnie was met with a thoughtful if slightly incredulous stare and the simple answer - "Leave Wyoming honey."

And so why am I minded of that tale at this moment? Because, as I feared, Cathy who is to be our guest at supper tonight is another such vegetarian, for whom not red or white meat or even indeed a piece of fish would do. At some immediate point, therefore, I shall have to inform Cook of this fact and ask her to prepare something Cathy can and will eat.

Our cook looks nothing like Geena Davis - sadly - but her views on non-meat eaters are no more tolerant of their right not to starve than Ronnie's Wyoming waitress.

Oh dear!