Mrs Down's Diary November 12 2008

And she was given, as I state in my role of defending attorney, a disproportionate amount of responsibility at a very early stage in her now aborted career.

The job description, given over breakfast, was to help her grandfather feed the lambs. Suitable clothing was provided: a boiler suit and wellies, and transport '“ front seat of the Land Rover.

Training provision was, as far as I can tell, sketchy. As a result, instead of spreading the feed out along the bottoms of two troughs in the field, Jess tipped the whole lot up in a big pile in one.

Therefore, instead of lambs being able to spread themselves out around four sides of the trough to feed, an unholy scrumdown took place.

As John was standing with her the whole time Jess was never in any danger of being knocked over but John said she was overwhelmed by the speed at which the lambs can appear from the farthest edges of a field once they spot a bag full of grub. "They learn it off their mothers," he said.

I am always reminded of one of Henry Brewis's cartoons in which one farmer remarked to another, as they saw a burglar with his swag bag crushed beneath a flock of sheep, about the folly of carrying any sort of sack through a sheep field. Ditto Father Christmas.

They will even follow an empty sack, much to the amusement of some neighbours who were helping us to move some sheep last week. After all, sheep have not got X-ray vision, and as long as the paper sack rattles enticingly you are a ewe's best friend. Until she knocks you over and discovers the truth.

John has been grateful for all the help we can give him over this past week. With a break in the wet and dismal weather he has been flat out to get as much land drilled as possible.

Plans change daily. At one moment we are going to wait until the spring, in the next a window of opportunity is to be seized to get another field drilled this autumn. As a result he has been getting up at four o'clock to get out on to the land and not coming home until darkness falls.

Several times I have taken him his lunch down the fields, as he prefers to work through rather than lose the traditional hour taken for lunch and a quick snooze. Not that that hour is peaceful. Reps, merchants and chancers all know that half past twelve to one is a good time to catch a farmer indoors. And that in their dozy, post-luncheon daze they might agree to something that in a more wakeful hour they would not normally give the time of day to.

Although not enjoying post-prandial snoozes, the tups are eating themselves into cider-induced stupors prior to star turns at the beginning of November when they get turned into the ewe's field. The paddock they are in borders our orchard and the apple harvest this year is tremendous.

The tups are quick off the mark if they see you picking apples from the paddock side of the fence, and rush over to pick up any fallen fruit before I get to it.

When our old horse Rupert was alive this was his domain and he cleared any apples off branches that overhung the paddock. Now the tups get the lot. Let's hope drink does not impair their performance.