David's Digest

"We wondered if you'd ever considered blogging?" they said.
"I might have if I knew what it meant", I replied. "Oh, really", they went on, "in that case we had better explain".
I was then treated to a summary of what you, dear user, know only too well, otherwise why are you here?
"There must be lots of things you'd like to include in your column," they continued, "but there isn't enough space. Blogging would give you the opportunity to get such matters off your chest."
Sensing my hesitation and attempting to appeal to my vanity they said "You do realise FW Interactive has a million hits a month, don't you?"
"Isn't it rather presumptuous," I asked, weakening a little, "to think users would want even more of my thoughts rammed down their throats?"
"The only way to know is to try it and find out", they retorted, "You start next week".
So, here I sit in my deep litter office in front of my steam driven computer preparing pearls of wisdom for your delectation. If you feel like it, watch this space.

Anglia Farmers Ltd the Norfolk based requisite buying group with purchasing power in excess of £100million/year (through which we buy most of what we need to run this farm) has entered into an agreement to supply the Diocese of Norwich with a variety of items.
Negotiations began when the Bishop of Norwich, who was president of the Royal Norfolk Show last year, visited the Anglia Farmers stand at the June show. Since then nearly fifty sub accounts have been established through which individual churches and clergy can place orders.
Purchases so far have included a new bunded oil tank for St Peters Church, Blofield, together with heating oil to fill it and electricity for St Mary's Church, Happisburgh. Ray Sanders of St Mary's said "It's early days but it looks like we'll save £100/year and that's the equivalent of several coffee mornings".

Why do so called celebrities allow pressure groups to make fools of them by allowing themselves to be used to publicise causes about which they know nothing?
In case you missed it Heather (Mills) McCartney recently took time off from her divorce proceedings from ex Beatle, Paul, to invade a Somerset pig farm alongside the vegetarian pressure group Viva. The purpose of this trespass was to "expose" farrowing crates as prisons for sows.
The sows can hardly move, she said, and they are unable to nuzzle their piglets. She then went on to explain, quite rightly, that the devices were intended to stop the sows from rolling onto the piglets and killing them. But more of them would survive in an open pen, she claimed.

First I skimmed today's newspapers and confirmed that Gordon Brown's budget will leave me worse off, not better. No surprise there then.
Then I turned to my post. There was a flyer inviting me to subscribe to an expensive travel magazine published by Conde Nast. There was, of course, a prize of a free holiday in Mauritius if I got lucky and a free gift of a "stylish" carrier bag if I didn't.
Next I opened a communication from Barclay's Visa. I watched a programme
called "Whistleblower" on TV about some of Barclay's practices last evening so I was immediately on my guard. The enclosure offered me special deals at venues so expensive that I wouldn't visit them in any case.
Then a thicker package tried to persuade me to buy a series of herbal products. They "guaranteed" to be able to stop my knee's from aching, arrest my ageing, improve my sex life and feel more vital altogether, so long as I bought the pills on offer at prices ranging from about £30 for a months months supply.

I'm not sure if blogs are supposed to be used for obituaries but I want to record my sadness at the passing of an old friend and sparring partner so I will take a chance.
Anthony Rosen, who has just died, was a friend of mine for well over thirty years. In some ways he was a competitor, writing a column in a rival magazine (Farming News - now no longer published); organising and leading farm study tours around the world (he did far more trips than I did); pioneering corporate farming (he was the real pioneer, I followed on in a minor role years later).
We also met as devotees, sometime committee members and long standing attenders of the Oxford Farming Conference and at the Farmers Club of which we have both, at different times, also been committee members.
But Anthony really came to prominence when, following several very successful years in farm management in the south of England, he joined a London investment firm and set up Fountain Farming. In the 1970's the company took on farms all over the country and installed a dairy herd on each.

As readers of my FW column may be aware, one of our diversifications is a horse livery. The other day we were checking on the welfare of some of our charges and commented to the owner of a grey mare that had been with us for eight or nine months that we thought she was over feeding her. I'm not, she replied. I have a job to get her to eat enough. In that case she must be pregnant, we said, half joking.
But the seeds of doubt had been sown. The horse had been bought from a dealer who owned a stallion just before it came to us and it set our client wondering. A couple of day's later when the vet was visiting our client asked him to do an internal examination to make sure.
Oh yes, he said, as he took off his rubber glove after the examination. I reckon she'll foal in two to four weeks.
Having bought the mare as empty the present owner was not best pleased. That evening she phoned to tell the vendor what had happened. To which the vendor said "Oh". She then went on to tell how the mare had, indeed, been covered, three times, by a very good stallion but that it had not been thought she was pregnant. Moreover, she had asked the vet (by coincidence the same one that we use) to do a scan and he had assured her the mare was empty. That was why she had been sold empty.

The Norfolk Showground has today been ringing with the sound of happy childrens voices. Most of the adults with them seemed pretty satisfied as well. It was the annual Spring Fling, arranged by the Show specifically to provide rural activity opportunities for children between 4 and 14 during the Easter Hoilidays. This year almost 4,500 attended - which is almost certainly a record.
I won't try to tell of all the things the children could do - there were so many. But the theme, as usual, was interactivity allowing the young people to do things on every stall. The John Innes Institute, for instance, invited visitors to identify different trees by sniffing the fruits they bear. The Young Farmers did a taste test of flavoured baked crisps made from potatoes and lentils and asked the tasters to vote for which they preferred.
A local cheese maker showed how cheese was made and offered pieces to taste. A dairy farmer - part of an East Anglian group of producers whose milk is labelled as such - had brought Friesian, Jersey and Ayrshire cows and were giving away cartons to drink. Pig producers were cooking sausages for visitors; bee keepers showed how bee's made honey and so on.

On Saturday I shall be flying to China with a party of FW readers. We start, almost inevitably, in Beijing but after doing a few touristy things there we will be concentrating on more rural area's to try to assess what effect the countrys' so called economic miracle has had on farming. We already know that some 750million of the 1.3billion chinese still are in villages and have to make a living from rural activities. I suspect there have been few changes in the countryside despite what is happening in the towns and cities but we will see. I shall also be looking for evidence of China's contribution to greenhouse gases. I gather it will not be hard to find.
If I can make my laptop work from such places I intend to report some of what we learn while we are there and give a fuller account in FW when I get back.

It's amost a week since I posted anything. If you've missed me I apologise. If you haven't that just proves I have yet to make an impact in this new media. Either way I should explain my absence.
Last Monday evening my broadband connection failed. It 's happened before so I gave up trying to re-establish it by re-booting the computer, unplugging at the wall socket and so on. On Tuesday I tried again but no joy. So I phoned my server and asked for advice. We went through all the things I had already done and a few more cable checks but still it would not connect. Leave it with me, the adviser said, I will ask BT to check the telephone exchange and the line.
On Wednesday I had to go to London so very little happened. But there was still no connection on Thursday. BT obviously don't have the same sense of urgency as individual users.
The trouble is you get to rely on these wretched gadgets and when they don't work you feel bereft. The paper work builds up too.
Friday dawned and I knew I needed to send a column to FW (the magazine). By the time I had written it BT had still not called and the broadband connection failed again - several times! In desparation I called the local library and booked a terminal. The only computer available was one in a tight corner at which you had to stand and type, so I had no alternative but to take it. I copied the column onto a memory stick, headed for town and eventually took my turn standing in a corner at the console from which I successfully sent next weeks column to FW.

It is with sadness that I record the passing of Perry McClean, a passionate farmer and distiguished scientist and researcher. For thirteen years from 1978 to his retirement he was the Director of Norfolk Agricultural Station (since merged into The Arable Group - TAG) a job he did with flair and distinction.
He did not come from a farming family. His interest in agriculture began when he worked on farms in Essex as a boy. He studied at Wye College and then joined MAFF from which he was seconded to Norfolk Agricultural Station.
His Ministry career later took him around the country including a spell in London. But he was always happiest on farms and when offered the job of Director of MAFF's light land experimental farm at Gleadthorpe in Nottinghamshire he jumped at the chance. Nine years later, when the farmer owned Norfolk Agricultural Station was looking for a new Director, committee members remembered the young man who had worked in the county years before and head hunted Perry for that job.
He was very much a square peg in a square hole and was a success from the start. The Station, had always been well known but Perry raised its profile even further. And Norfolk farmers, as well as many further afield, used what he did on the commercial part of the experimental farm as a template for what they did on their own holdings.

The BBC's Today programme on Radio 4 came live from a tent at the Hay Literary Festival this morning. Like farming, the festival was being affected by the Bank Holiday weather with participants apparently having to wear rubber boots, although the rain will have been more welcome on most farms, I suspect.
But that was not the only parallel between the book business and farming. During the programme a book boffin complained that one UK independent book shop was being forced out of business every week because of price cutting by multiple retailers. Even best selling books, like those in the Harry Potter series, did not make money for small shops because readers could get them cheaper where they bought their groceries. Bulk buying and discounting is destroying large chunks of the book business and with it a vital element in the community, listeners were told. There was an urgent need to protect local booksellers from the ruthless activities of the big stores.

It might surprise you to know that I am really quite domesticated. I regularly shop for food with my wife. She likes it because I usually pay. I like it because it keeps me in touch with consumer trends and retailers prices.
So, when I had an hour to spare in London yesterday I decided to pop into the new Whole Foods store in Kensington High Street. In the unlikely event that you have missed all the publicity I should perhaps point out that it is the first Whole Foods outlet outside North America, where there are 200 of them, and follows three years of assessment of the UK market after the owners bought the UK Fresh & Wild business.
I should say at the outset that the new store is very impressive. It's huge and features lots of organic products, but not exlusively so. The main entrance, for instance, featured Boyd's New Forest Strawberries that carried a LEAF logo. Whole Foods stresses that its suppliers are all identified and traceable and produce to high standards of safety and animal welfare. They also claim to source as locally as possible and to be concerned with the health of their customers.
That said there were plenty of exotic offers from around the world as well as luxury chocolates for those with a sweet tooth.

Our Open Farm Sunday afternoon was fairly low key as I intended it should be. We don't have farm livestock (apart from livery horses) and I judged that arable crops and conservation would have limited appeal to large crowds. Add to that the fact that we have been shorthanded recently with little time to prepare and a small crowd seemed more appropriate. So I restricted advertising to places I believed would attract the right demographic mix and numbers.
Surprisingly I got it spot on. Just under 50 people turned up with ages ranging from 3 to over 80. One lady had been a land army girl on the farm in 1948 and was there for nostalgic reasons. Local parents brought their children who were walking on farmland for the first time in their lives. An ex ADAS man (who had been made redundant several years ago but wanted to update himself on the changes since), some middle aged ladies, a couple of lorry drivers, a few teachers and so on, all of them consumers, made up the rest of the party.
We had a gentle stoll round some of the features I thought would be interesting and at which I had erected the special sign boards sent me by LEAF. I talked a bit and invited questions. Most were concerned with global warming, subsidies, and food safety. I hope I was able to answer them to the satisfaction of my guests. In any event they all seemed to go away happy and pleased with the experience taking handfuls of leaflets supplied by the Open Farm Sunday sponsors with them.

Was it in February or March that the boffins at the Met Office announced that we were virtually certain to have another hot dry summer this year?
Whichever, as we now know to our cost, they could not have been more wrong. April, yes, it was hot and dry, as were the first few days of May. But after that the heavens opened and seldom seem to have closed since.
On this farm once it started raining we had 125mm (5 inches in old money) in May. So far in June we have had as much again. Some places in the country have had much more, of course, and the short term forecast is for further falls before the end of the month at the weekend.
What does this prove? I suggest it shows that attempting to predict the weather months ahead is futile. Forecasters find it difficult enough to get it right five days, let alone five months ahead. I think they should concentrate on greater accuracy in the short term and leave the long term to those who practice witchcraft. That way we poor farmers will not be tempted to plan on the basis of weather that is unlikely to happen.

The Norfolk Show was a resounding success despite the weather forecasters. Heavy rain during the weekend setting up was soon forgotten as it stayed mainly fine and attendance was estimated at around 95,000 over the two days.
As at many other shows this year there were near record entries of almost all classes of livestock and in spite of the torrential rain in some other area's of the country that caused a few unavoidable no-shows competition was strong among quality entries.
Perhaps this was a reflection of what Norfolk accountants, Lovewell Blake and Land Agents and consultants Cheffins described in a report released at the show as the increased "sex appeal" affecting farming in recent months. Higher prices for cereals in particular have certainly improved the mood of the arable sector of the industry and there was a buzz among the farm machinery stands. My own view on livestock exhibitors, however, is that they are proud of their stock and just love showing. In other words it is an absorbing hobby for many, whether they are making money or not. That's why farming is different from other industries and long may that continue.

One of the few really satisfying moments during a very unsatisfactory Royal Show was the presentation to Dr Helmut Claas of a rarely awarded Gold Medal.

The Medal is reserved for people who have made "outstanding and sustained contributions to our industry" and few deserve it more than Dr Claas.

He is, of course, German by birth but an Englishman by adoption. Indeed he is a Suffolk farmer.

Furthermore his combine harvesters are now estimated to gather in more than half of UK grain each year. And that takes no account of the grass and silage machinery in which his company is world leader, the balers and now the Claas tractors that are being seen on British farms in ever increasing numbers.

If I sound like a fan, that is an accurate assessment. I have used Claas equipment since I began farming. And, like many other UK farmers, I count myself a privileged friend of Helmut Claas as well as a customer.

A few weeks ago during the FW study tour of Germany I took the party to look round the main production factory at Harsewinkel. After we had seen the amazing technology in what is now probably the most modern farm machinery factory in the world we went to the nearby farm where it is possible to test drive some of the models made by Claas. A little later Helmut and his wife Erika joined us. First, they shook hands with all of us in the British party. Then they did the same with the Claas staff members there to look after us.

By such respect for their workers the Claas family - and it is still a family owned business - earn the loyalty of their workers and that is just one of the reasons, together with Helmut engineering genius, why they produce world beating machines.

Thankyou Helmut for all you have done for UK agriculture. And congratulations.

It saddens me to say it because it has been an enjoyable annual event in my life for over forty years but the Royal Show was doomed long before heavy rain knocked the final nail in its coffin.

Who or what should take the blame?

The truth is that there have been a combination of factors. The state of the industry hasn't helped, although signs of an upturn are beginning to appear; inexperience management, with no senior members of staff who had ever been involved in running a Royal before; the disastrous flirtation with Lord Heseltine's company Haymarket; climate change, or whatever meteorological phenomenon that caused such a wet July; those who decided on such a heavy land and slow draining permanent site over fifty years ago; the Cereals event which was started by the RASE and whose success amounted to shooting itself in the foot; a council composed of about 120 members many of whom are out of touch with the prioritities of today's agricultural industry.

I could go on and there are almost certainly other factors that I am not aware of. But my short list amounts to a lethal combination. And the inescapable fact is that this year's much reduced event continued a spiral of decline that began several years ago.

Can it survive? Not, I suggest, in its current form. A thorough re-think is urgently required during which the RASE must re-assess its role. Its attempts to be all things to all men have failed. It must decide whether to concentrate on food production or food consumption. Moreover it must make up its mind whether any event as expensive as the Royal is appropriate for the future.

I first met Janice Houghton-Wallace when she was a producer on the BBC TV programme Countryfile. Some of her colleagues were hostile to farming from the start. Janice never was.

A few years later, in 1999, she retired from broadcasting to go turkey farming. Only she didn't "do a Bernard Matthews". Her passion was rare breeds and doing everything she could to ensure their survival.

Today, sixteen years later, she is still at it along with various freelance journalistic and lecturing activities, and a couple of weeks ago she published a book - Not Just For Christmas - to share her comprehensive knowledge of the species.

It covers everything about turkeys. Their history and wide variety of beautifully illustrated breeds (Janice keeps nine of them) to breeding, feeding, showing and health. She even tells you how to slaughter and prepare them for the table. In short - all you ever wanted to know about turkeys but were afraid to ask. And its a good read.

In these days of bio-diversity the book is well timed and targeted. It is available, price £20 from www.farmingbooksandvideos.com

Yes, that's right. Tests have shown that people who drink milk and eat cheese and yoghurt are healthier than those who avoid them. They are less likely to suffer from metabolic syndrome and milk can help to stave off strokes. Further, the calcium in milk helps the body to absorb nutrients from fruit and vegetables.

Who'd have believed it? All those stories about milk being high fat and bad for you were wrong. And those of us who recognised that milk was a marvellous, natural, balanced food with only 3% to 4% fat even when it was not semi-skimmed have been right all the time.

It only goes to show that if you wait long enough the benefits of common sense eating habits come round again. Bring out the cornflakes and splash on the milk.

The current furore over the misleading editing of TV clips involving the Queen and Gordon Brown reminds me of something that I became aware of when working for another TV company.

About 25 years ago a producer with that company who specialised in making environmental programmes persuaded his employers that farm pollution was killing wildfowl on the Norfolk Broads and that this justified an expose film. The fact that there was a drought at the time and that water levels were very low was, in his view, coincidental.

He made his film, full of arty shots through reeds, over the course of several weeks but failed totally to find any dead wildfowl to include in his footage. This, clearly, would undermine his thesis somewhat. So, he went to the local game dealer and purchased three brace of mallard, still in feather. He took them to one of the broads, rolled them around in the mud on the edge of the water, filmed them, and they became the justification for a commentary that condemned farming practices in east Norfolk for the botulism that he claimed was the cause of the problem.

A report by the Commission for Rural Communities entitled State of the Countryside 2007 reveals, among other things, that access to rural post offices (defined as being within one and a quarter miles) has declined from 90% to 87% over the last seven years. In some tiny villages only 45% of residents were within reasonable reach.

This is in large measure due to the closure, since Labour came to power, of 4,600 village post offices. Moreover, the trend is set to continue with a further 2,500 scheduled to go within the next year or so, according to Alistair Darling.

What a blow to rural people, especially the elderly who rely on the local post office for their weekly pension. The government tried to force such people to open bank accounts a few years ago into which their pensions could be electronically transferred. But if you've lived seventy or more years without one and do not understand about electronic banking you don't take kindly to such pressure. A nearby post office is therefore vital to your quality of life.

Perhaps its because we have horses here on the farm that I'm particularly aware of the problem. But as I have travelled around the country I've noticed it more this year than ever before. Ragwort is everywhere.

Most of all there are "crops" of it on roadside verges. Motorists may even think its yellow flowers are pretty, little realising that it is one of the most lethal plants in the countryside. It is even poisonous to humans but more particularly it kills horses and cattle. Under most circumstances they don't eat it when it is growing because of its bitter taste. But when it dies off because of cutting or spraying it becomes palatable to equines and bovines and causes irreparable damage to their liver. There is no known cure.

Make no mistake, we've had far too much rain in Norfolk during the last few weeks. But as I watch TV news programmes showing the scale of the flooding in Gloucestershire, Worcestershire, Warwickshire and elsewhere I realise how lucky we are.

There's not much I can do, beyond sympathising with the victims and hoping the situation will improve quickly. But it's clear that irreparable damage has been done to crops that are underwater and, although I have no details, to the infrastructure and stocks of low lying farms as well.

Hopefully the relief services and charities will be able to help. Higher commodity prices will assist the least affected to survive the problems but won't compensate for the total losses that must have been suffered by some.

But for the government to publish a report on a day like this that allegedly says there is no alternative to building more houses on flood plains seems crazy and irresponsible. Who writes such rubbish?

I always look forward to receiving the Country Landowner magazine and one of the first pages I turn to is the Presidents message at the front of the publication.

This months edition dropped through the letter box this morning and I followed my usual practice. My friend, the President, David Fursdon, told how he had been contacted by Hilary Benn, the new Secretary of State at Defra within days of his appointment and described how he had met him to discuss current issues soon afterwards.

David Fursdon then went on to say how delighted he had been to escort HRH the Duke of Edinburgh and Minister of State at Defra, Jeff Rooker round this years Game Fair.

Did I miss something? Wasn't the Game Fair cancelled because of bad weather? Or was the President the victim of tight copy dates and printing schedules that forced him to anticipate something he intended to do but which was overtaken by events?

Sorry to be cheeky, David, but having been there and done that I couldn't resist poking gentle fun. More seriously I am as sad as you must be that the Fair was rained off in the CLA's centenery year.

Phil Drabble didn't really like sheepdogs. He much preferred whippets and terriers with which he had roamed the Staffordshire countryside around Abbots Bromley when a boy.

I worked with him on radio programmes in the 1960's and '70's and remember him being asked by a Birmingham based producer to present half a dozen television outside broadcasts about sheepdog trials. The main reason was to find work for a crew in the Cumbria area for a few days between other programme commitments. "I know very little about sheepdogs" said Phil "but as long as they find someone who understands the game to help me I suppose it can't do too much harm."

The rest, as they say, is history. "One Man and His Dog" became a cult programme attracting up to 8million viewers for nearly twenty years. This was partly due to the public's fascination with watching dogs driving sheep through complicated courses in beautiful countryside. But it was also because of Phil's down to earth approach and obvious love of nature.

That was the kind of man he was. He worked for many years for Walkers the weighing machine company, rising to a senior management position. But he never stopped loving the countryside and spending as much time as he could walking with his dogs. Indeed he began writing and broadcasting about countryside matters while still at Walkers.

I've never been grouse shooting, although I have met plenty of people who've enjoyed it for many years. They tell me that the moors are full of monied City types rather than proper countrymen these days. On the one hand this provides an opportunity for them to contribute some of their huge bunuses to the rural economy. On the other, their frequent demands for big bags to justify expenditure on pairs of Purdy's, new tweed suits and so on brings completely the wrong attitude to the shooting field.

OK, I should probably not include all of the new breed of country sportsman within that bracket. Some are countrymen first and bankers or stockbrokers second and should know how to behave. But there is a significant element among todays "guns" that bring their City competitiveness with them on shoot days and seek only to kill as many birds as possible.

To me, that is not what shooting should be about. My main enjoyment during the handful of days each season that I go shooting pheasant and partridge is the joy of walking across beautiful countryside, the thrill of seeing birds fly, the companionship with other like minded people who are more concerned with one another's company than with the size of the bag.

I really hope this message is picked up and adopted by those who boast of hundreds of birds shot in a day. For their excesses are what puts the enjoyment of more modest shooting men at risk. The anti's are only too pleased to point the finger at big bags, some of which they claim are buried, and use them in their campaign to stop shooting. A more moderate approach, combined with a determination that what is shot is eaten, might help undermine their activities and preserve genuine pleasure in a rural activity for the majority.

I'm not really a cat person. I prefer dogs. But reading of Tim's fixation with his new cat (Field Day) reminded me of a story told by the titled lady who was President of Norfolk YFC's in the 1960's. Filling in at a harvest supper for a speaker who had failed to turn up she told the following tale.

There was a beautiful and sophisticated white lady cat who one day met her friend, an equally attractive and well bred brown lady cat. "Oh darling" she said to the brown cat "I did so envy you last night, out on the tiles with that gorgeous ginger Tom". To which the brown cat replied " Darling, I'm afraid your envy is misplaced. He was talking about his operation all night."

A married couple called Mills from South Wales are reported to have spent £2000 on vets bills to treat a Rhode Island Red hen that has ended up with one leg. Apparently the hen got its leg caught in some wire netting, failed to respond to treatment so had to have the leg amputated and was then diagnosed with depression. Its owners have foregone holidays and been living frugally ever since to pay for it all.

"Its lovely to see the smile back on her beak," said Mrs Mills, "and she is now laying eggs again."

I too am an animal lover although I have never been that close to a chicken. Indeed my first thought on hearing the story was that those eggs were rather expensive once the vets bills were accounted for. My second thought was that the vet in question must have done pretty well out of the deal.

I then remembered an incident in our farmyard many years ago when I was a boy. A chicken dealer named Mr Reed was in the habit of calling regularly to collect cull hens from the deep litter unit and taking them away in crates on his car trailer. One day when he was there my father pointed to a hen walking slowly and stiffly around the yard and was clearly unwell. "You're an expert on poultry, Mr Reed," my father said, "what do you reckon is wrong with that hen?"

Mr Reed walked slowly round the hen. She had a wry neck, a pale comb, one wing hanging down and could hardly move and said, "Well, Robert, as near as I can say she's deep in thought". And with that he picked her up, wrung her neck and stuffed her into a crate on his trailer.

Would I be accused of being callous if I admitted I would have done the same with the one in South Wales?

If you were the lorry driver travelling too fast in a northerly direction down the narrow main road at Woodton in Norfolk at about 7.45am this morning, I want you to know that I was driving the 4x4 in the opposite direction which you cut up.

Your wheels were at least 18inches my side of the white line. Mine were half way up the left bank. Despite this the side of your flat lorry clipped my mirror and smashed it to smitherines.

Even worse, you didn't even bother to stop. Don't tell me you didn't know you had hit me. The noise as the mirror and the shell that contained it smashed was like a gun shot.

I was unable to turn round and chase you because the road was narrow and there was too much traffic. Meanwhile you disappeared into the distance. You clearly knew you were guilty and that you should not have been going so fast on such a road. You decided I would not be able to catch you and that it was likely you would get off scott free. Thanks a lot!!!

I am now faced with a bill for replacing the mirror of a few hundred pounds (it was heated and electrically operated) or putting it through my insurance and risking increasing the excess.

I am also suffering from road rage. Why are some drivers such b.......s?

They don't let me lose on tractors much these days. But when the pressure is on and there are urgent jobs to do I'm pleased to oblige. The younger generation sometimes seem surprised that I know how to drive and that I quite enjoy it.

The other morning I was allowed to Cambridge roll a field of newly drilled oil seed rape. It had been min-tilled and it was important to consolidate the soil around the seed to preserve enough moisture for germination (yes, even after the wet summer) and to help frustrate predatory slugs whose numbers are said to have doubled this year.

What I didn't expect as I set off around the perimeter was an infestation of rats. I must have disturbed dozens, some as big as cats as well as several young. They were presumably looking for wheat grains left behind the combine and still near the surface after shallow cultivation. They scurried to the hedge where I presumed their holes were as I passed.

I don't ever remember seeing as many rats on arable fields at this time of year. I can only assume their survival rate through last winter was high because it was so mild and that the wet summer caused them fewer problems that it did us. Whatever the reason it's clear that as soon as the food on the fields runs out and/or the weather turns chilly, those blighters will head for the grainstore in the farmyard.

Note to self: get stock of rat poison ready for when that happens.

I had just dropped off to sleep after a strenuous day when I thought I dreamed that people were shouting fire. The trouble was it wasn't a dream. Once I realised it I blundered out of bed, pulled on a pair of trousers over my pyjama's and raced downstairs.

A good neighbour who had been driving past our gate had seen flames coming out of one of our buildings and had come down the drive to warn us. A quick look at the scale of the fire showed that it was beyond our capability to control with on-farm extinguishers so we rang 999. In the meantime the flames had spread to threaten some of the stables used by our livery customers.

There followed a frantic few minutes as we released the horses and later led them past the flames to their paddocks. The first of six fire engines arrived (so the Chief Officer later told me) just nine minutes after our emergency call. A very creditable performance, even so it seemed longer as we did our best to deal with the fire and move the horses to safety.

Four hours later, as the firemen raked over the remains and we began to assess the damage to buildings and contents, we were able to bring the horses back. None of the stables had been damaged, although a couple of grain barns and a crop drying engine (the probable source of the fire) are either in need of serious attention or totally written off.

We're busy clearing up the mess this morning and the acrid smell of the fire still hangs in the air. But I can't help thinking we were very lucky. If our neighbour hadn't been passing, if the fire station hadn't been so close; if we hadn't had help to move the horses - all of those things and more - I could be writing a very different blog today - or perhaps not.

If they happen to read this - my sincere thanks to all who helped avert a real tragedy.

In the Appointments section of today's Sunday Times, The Farmers Club in Whitehall, London, is adverstising for a new Chief Executive. This makes public what insider's have known for some time - that Grieve Carson the present CE will be retiring next Spring.

He doesn't look old enough or unfit enough to retire, partly because of his regular tennis playing and members will be sad to see him leave. For in the 160 year history of the Club he has arguably been the most successful CE ever.

Under Grieve's watch the Club has grown in stature and efficiency. Even more importantly he has made it a friendly place for the 5,500 or so members and extended activities out into the area's where most of them farm. There have been receptions at shows, visits to farms and estates, participation in regional and national conferences and so on.

As someone who has endured impersonal hotels across the country and the world I know how lonely they can be. But when you stay at the Club you meet people you know, or if you don't to start with you soon do and it is a real pleasure to be there and be waited on by staff who also become friends.

The warm atmosphere in which this happens has been enhanced and developed by Grieve Carson's own friendly and approachable personality. What a pity we can't clone him or inject him with the elixir of eternal youth!

In Linclonshire with my wife the other day we called in on Uncle Henry's. For those not familiar with the north of the county Uncle Henry's is the brainchild of Meryl Ward (prominent in pig politics among other things) and her husband Steve. They've set up a farm shop and associated farm trail just off the A15 at Kirton in Lindsey and since the previous occupant of the place was called Uncle Henry by everyone in the district that's what they named the enterprise.

It's really impressive and despite the lack of chimney pots in the area appeared to be very successful. Moreover, in the year since it opened it has achieved all of its financial objectives and developed a loyal and regular clientele. Several customers were having breakfast (including bacon from the Ward's own pigs) while we were visiting. Its a bit distant for my wife to shop there regularly but on this occasion I noticed the credit card being put to intensive use as she found herself unable to resist the goods on offer.

As I recovered from her retail therapy over a cup of coffee in the cafe I noticed a diner on a nearby table reading the latest issue of the Farmers Weekly. "Is he a farmer?" I asked the Ward's. "Oh no, he's just one of our regular customers" was the reply. "So why is he reading Farmers Weekly?" I continued. "Well, we leave it out with other countryside magazines so that single customers can read while they are eating and guess what - Farmers Weekly is the one that is read most of all."

What a compliment to FW. And what a good idea for spreading the UK food and farming message. Perhaps this note will persuade other farm shop and cafe owners to do likewise.

Any white Zimbabwean farmer still on his land today, Oct 1st, will be classed as a trespasser on state property. This looks like the final stage of Mugabe's land grab. When it began there were more than 4,000 white farmers. Today there are just a few hundred who have hung on in the hope, presumably, of some international intervention to rescue them. But beyond Gordon Brown saying he refused to sit in the same room as Mugabe, nothing has happened. Britain in particular, is guilty of neglecting our own flesh and blood and leaving the white farmers to whatever fate the corrupt Zimbabwean president cares to mete out to them.

When I first visited the country fifteen or so years ago, the productive, well managed farms were producing enough food and other commodities to satisfy the Zimbabwean population and still have plenty left over to export. Each farm supported many black families who relied on their employer for their food, education and healthcare. Idealists might have said the workers would have been better off if they had been well paid. But this is Africa and the workers lot was certainly no worse and probably a lot better than that of people in many other developing countries from whose labours Britain benefits every day.

It all went dreadfully wrong when Mugabe encouraged his government ministers and officials to take over the white owned farms. With official backing gangs of thugs drove white families and their black workers off farms. They looted the farm houses and stole the crops and the cattle. And the ministers took over the properties.

On this date twenty years ago we were expecting our first grandchild. The slight complication was that the potential parents - our eldest son and his wife - were living in Amarillo, Texas. My wife, Lorna, had agreed to fly out to help the new mother with the baby as soon as it was born. So, on Oct 12, 13, and 14 we were in frequent telephone contact with the US to stay in touch with any signs that the birth was imminent.

Late in the afternoon of Oct 14th, a Thursday, we had an excited call from our son saying - "labour has started". I quickly booked a flight for Lorna from Gatwick to Amarillo via Dallas that left early the next morning. I also booked her a room at a Gatwick hotel for that night and we set off in the car to drive the 140 or so miles from Norfolk.

We arrived at the hotel at about 10.00pm on the Thursday evening. I had intended driving straight back to Norwich where I was due to record that weeks Anglia Farming Diary TV programme the next morning. But it was an unpleasant windy evening and when I saw my wife had been allocated a double room I decided to stay the night with her and get up early the next morning to drive back to Norwich.

Its amazing the amount of sound double glazed windows designed to allow sleep while aircraft are taking off close by will do to mask all sorts of sounds. Lorna and I were blissfully unaware of the gale that had become more ferocious as we slept. It was only when I got up at 5.30am to prepare to drive home - and all the lights went out as I began to dress - that we realised all was not well outside.

The sun was shining; the contractor was lifting sugar beet; the haulier was taking them straight to the factory; the plough was almost keeping up with the beet harvester and the rotary cultivator/drill combination was planting wheat into the freshly turned land. It was all very satisfying and I decided there was not much I could do to improve things.

So, an hour ago I picked up a bucket from the garage and headed for one of our conservation hedges. For many years it's been one of my favorite places for sloes and this year there were more than ever. I was able to strip them off the twigs by the handful. Yes, I punctured my fingers with a few thorns but thats par for the course. In less than three quarters of an hour I had half filled the bucket. I left plenty for the birds but thought I should stop picking as I already had more sloes than I could afford to buy gin for.

This evening I shall sort the leaves from the fruit, wash the sloes and put them in the deep freeze. After a few days they'll be ready to shed their juice into the gin in which I shall place them along with lots of sugar.

My recipe is incredibly simple. Fill each bottle one third full with frozen sloes, tip in a slightly smaller volume of sugar, fill the bottle with gin, scew in the top and shake up the mixture. Place the bottles on a handy shelf and every day for a month as you walk past, pause and shake the bottles. When the sugar is all absorbed and the liquid has taken on a beautiful red colour, decant, filtering out the sloes.

When we have guests to shoot a little of the hedgerow cocktail will be taken out to entertain them. The only other use I have for sloe gin, of course, is for medicinal purposes. I just can't wait to be ill.

It is with a great sense of sadness and personal loss that I record the death of my friend and broadcasting colleague, Anthony Parkin. He was 81. In the early 1960's he created the national radio programme On Your Farm and invited me to be its main presenter. We worked together for over twenty years and developed a deep and mutual respect.

He was a professional, a perfectionist, and a principled producer epitomising all that was best about the BBC in those days. He always insisted on putting a balanced view of any issue, whatever his personal opinions, which were strong on some things. He would have been a model for some of todays broadcasters who do not, apparently, observe the same high ethics.

He originated radio breakfasts, broadcasts that, by their informality, enabled top people in our industry to reveal facets of their character that might otherwise have remained unknown. The programmes were a bit like Desert Island Discs with bacon and eggs. And he became the Agricultural Story Editor of The Archers, a job he took very seriously and continued in early retirement until frustrations at the politically correct production team drove him to resign.

He came from a non farming family. His father was knighted for creating the Dock Labour Board in the troubled 1950's and he had a relatively privileged childhood. He served in India in the Army and then, quite late in life, went to Reading University and gained a farming degree. His first job was with Farmers Weekly where one of his duties was sub-editing A G Street. He used to tell me how intimidating it was.

Last night was a big night in London. It was Farmers Weekly Awards night at the Grosvener Hotel, Park Lane. Everybody who was anybody in British agriculture was there - and so was I.

It was a superb party and I congratulate all the winners and finalists and the people who organised it. It illustrated all that is good about our industry and amounted to a huge encouragement to anyone aspiring to succeed in it.

I was seated between Archers producer, Vanessa Whitburn and the chap who plays David in the long running series, Timothy Bentinck. As the finalists for each category were announced and their achievements explained they became more and more enthusiastic. By the end of the evening its fair to say they were gobsmacked.

As they admitted, they spend most of their time pretending to be farmers. But here were real people who had overcome many real adversities in recent years and come up trumps.

Later in the evening I saw the pair, together with the actors who play Brian Aldridge and David's wife, Ruth and one of the Grundy's, with their heads together in deep discussion. I suspect they were debating how they could reflect the infectious atmosphere that pervaded the Grosvener Hotel in some future episode. Given that their virtual village of Ambridge and the farms (and other activities, not necessarily agricultural) are the only window most British people have on agriculture and country life, it was important they went away with a good impression - which they did.

Whether they will or can incorporate some aspect of Awards night into the radio programme I don't know. But I do know that the event had an extremely positive effect on them and, I suspect, on everyone else there. It made me proud to be associated with Farmers Weekly.

"Are you busy this afternoon?" said my east Norfolk friend on the phone. Not particularly, I said warily, not wanting to let myself in for something I might not enjoy. But in truth it is pretty relaxed around here at present after such an ideal autumn and the only thing I had planned was to write another blog. "Well, a few of us are going duck shooting on my lake", my friend continued, " and I wondered if you'd like to come?".

I'd heard about his duck shoots although never before been on one. He's close enough to the marshes and the Broads to have a lot of duck of all kinds and it was clearly a chance not to be missed. The blog went by the board and I gathered up my shooting gear and set off east. This was yesterday afternoon.

An hour or so later I had met with my friend and his six other guests and well before dark he settled us into our hides beside the lake. The action was slow at first with just a few high mallard skimming over. But as the sky began to darken great flocks appeared. Teal flashed by almost too fast to see and my swing wasn't fast enough to even fire at them.

Then a formation of geese flew over. The host had said "have a go at the geese if they come", so I did. And I got one! Probably because they were bigger and slower than the teal.

By the time our host blew his whistle to signal it was too dark to continue I'd had a lot of shots, I'd brought down a few mallard and a few teal to join the goose. A team of dogs swam out to pick up what we had shot. Not a big bag but we'd all had a lot of fun. Thanks James.

As readers of FW will discover next week I have been to Agritechnica in Hanover, otherwise known as the DLG. A friend and I decided we could spare a couple of days and not having been there for 25 to 30 years thought we needed an injection of machinery mania. You don't get it much in the UK these days what with Smithfield closing and the Royal being so poor.

So, we booked some flights to take us from Norwich airport via Amsterdam to Hanover and back. The only trouble was we had to get up very early in the mornings (4.00am) to catch both outward and return flights. However, that did not turn out to be the biggest problem.

KLM were late leaving Norwich and equally late arriving in Amsterdam so that, even though the onward flight was also KLM, we missed our connection by 3 minutes. Needless to say this caused some strong language to KLM staff and I have already demanded compensation. But we found ourselves having to fly to Hamburg and then catch a train to Hanover. So, to cut a long story short, having rolled out of bed in the middle of the night we did not arrive at the Show until mid afternoon.

I will leave impressions of the show to my column next week and to the FW reporters who covered the event. Suffice to say it was an incredible event. Bigger than Paris. Arguably one of the most important farm machinery shows in the world. And our injections of machinery mania will last for a while. I would recommend anyone with similar cravings to attend next time it is held in November 2009. But I would not recommend KLM as a carrier unless they improve their service.

First, my apologies for absence. What with two days of vermin control this week together with two days in Brussels catching up on the CAP Health Check and other issues (of which more in FW next week) there hasn't been much time to blog.

I went to Brussels with a small party organised by Peter Fane of Eurinco, the EU agricultural consultancy. The group I travelled with went by Eurostar from St Pancras station (what an impressive building) to Brussels Midi. The journey took one hour and fifty minutes and was very smooth and comfortable. We had breakfast on the train (which was not the highlight of the trip) and arrived fresh and ready to tackle the CAP.

The return trip was just as swift and I doubt if any of those I travelled with will ever consider flying to Brussels again. There are, of course in these troubled times, security checks before boarding the train. But they are reasonable and quick and there is none of the time consuming waiting around that there is at airports. There's a chance to see the farming beside the line (even if it is going past the window at 150mph or whatever) and you are delivered straight to the centre of town. Its taken too long to get it going but now it is, I for one am a fan.

In mid November we had a wonderful crop of holly berries on several trees around the farm. Right, I thought. I'll cut a few sprigs for Christmas, because if we get frosts and I leave it until late December the birds will have eaten all the berries. I tied up my bunch with baler twine and hung it on a nail in the coal shed out of the way of berry eaters.

I've noticed as I've been driving and walking around the Norfolk countryside in recent days that holly trees have been stripped bare. And I've smiled contentedly and congratulated myself on my foresight. Until I went into the coal shed this morning to collect the holly for my family to use for decoration, that is.

There have been a few periods of rain but most of the last five or six weeks have been pretty dry and there's been little humidity in the air. So when I took down my carefully preserved sprigs, both leaves and berries were rather dry and wrinkled. It wasn't quite what I was expecting and it won't look as welcoming as I had hoped at the time of my good intentions. Next year I shall try to leave cutting the holly until a bit closer to Christmas and hope the birds delay their feast until I've done it.

But at least we've got some red berries even if they do look like an elderly Santa's nose. Those who didn't think ahead may not have any at all.

James and Barbara Nelstrop, originally from Lincolnshire, have pushed out the boundaries throughout their farming lives. In Australia they developed irrigation systems for dry land. When they returned to England they bought one of the lightest land farms in Norfolk and used their antipodean experience to install a series of centre pivot irrigators - the first in the UK. Then James won a Nuffield Scholarship to study Russian farming and later established a farming enterprise at Kaliningrad on the Polish border. Back in Britain they decided to set up an organic farm and also a building business to be run by their son Andrew. Their latest, and some might say maddest, venture is a whisky distillery just off the A11 near Thetford in Norfolk.

Named the St George's Distillery, it was designed and built (by Andrew) in 2005. Investment so far is in the region of £2m and as each day passes and more barrels of spirit (its not allowed to call it whisky until it has matured for at least three years) move into the bonded store beside the distillery that investment grows a little more. James concedes that it will be 2012 before they can hope to see a return on their money but that year theirs will be the only English whisky on the market as visitors come here for the Olympics and he has high hopes than many of them will want to drink and or take home a memento of their visit.

Meanwhile he and his four distillery employees are processing a tonne of best Norfolk malting barley each day into three 220 litre barrels. The barrels have all been used before, for sherry, or bourbon or some other liquor, which adds taste and assists in maturing the spirit. But if the spirit is of poor quality to start with there's not much that can be done to make it into best whisky.

For about forty years my wife Lorna and I have, a few days before Christmas, invited friends to our house to get them ready for the Holyday. The party is always very informal with friends of all ages, including young children, arriving and leaving according to any other engagements they may have, during the evening. We usually cater for between 50 and 70. This year (last Saturday evening, in fact) several people had colds or had other activities to attend to so the numbers were at the lower end of our estimate.

There are four main elements to the party. The first is a hot mulled wine, called Krambambuli, that I have made at every one of these annual get-togethers. It came from a cookery book Lorna bought in Switzerland many years ago when we went there for a ski holiday. It has stood the test of time and for anyone who would like to try it I repeat the recipe below.

The second essential element is a quantity of game pies that Lorna makes from birds I have brought home from various "vermin control" days I have enjoyed during the autumn. Slices of it go down very well. The third element expected by our guests is carol singing, with Lorna or another of our talented regulars at the piano. And the fourth is the nativity tableau that Lorna creates in the garage every year so that guests can see it as they arrive and leave.

People say it puts them in the mood for Christmas. I do hope so. And if you'd like to try that mulled wine recipe please turn to the next page.

Having spent a few very enjoyable days shooting pheasants (vermin control!) over the last few weeks I was pleased to receive as a Christmas present a book on shooting by sporting expert Mike Swan. I should say at the outset that I am not one of those sportsmen who look for a huge bag. A modest number of birds combined with the maximum amount of banter and fun in beautiful countryside ending with a pleasant meal with fellow guns is my ideal.

Perhaps because of this relaxed attitude I had not appreciated, until I opened my new book, some of the things that I should have about the main quarry I had been aiming at. Well, Mike Evans has helped to reduce my ignorance.

Pheasants represent about 70% of all the game killed in Britain each year, apparently. It is well known that they came originally from as far away as China and other countries in the Far East. What is not so clear is how they came to Britain. The Romans were known to have reared them in captivity for the table two thousand years ago but there is no proof they brought them to this country. It is more likely, according to Mike Evans, that they were brought from France by the Normans about a thousand years ago.

A recent report in Norfolk's local newspaper, the Eastern Daily Press, which was of vital importance to all its readers, gave statistical information of a most personal nature. It told how the average Briton spends more than three months during their lifetime sitting on the loo.

Women, apparently, spend most time in the bathroom using a total of one and a half years in there during their lifetimes. Having stood and waited for some of them to emerge I can well believe it. But while men spend less time showering and brushing their teeth they spend more time sitting on the toilet.

Who on earth calculates such things? And does it matter?

Well, perhaps it does. Productivity can clearly be influenced by such habits. And Dianne Montague, a friend who used to own and write the newsletter Agricultural Supply Industry, always said her weekly four page publication "had to pass the loo test". In other words it had to be possible to read it at one sitting.

So, in these days of shortening attention spans perhaps toilet statistics are more important than I facetiously implied.

We had a months rain during the first fortnight of January. And we were lucky. Other places had more than that and were flooded for the third time in less than nine months. But the improvement began just before the weekend.

The sun came out and the breeze helped dry out the land. News came that this month looks like being almost as mild as January 2007. You could see the results across fields of winter wheat and oil seed rape. They were growing already, just like they do in March most years.

On Friday, my wife and I set off south for a weekend away with friends. The weather stayed perfect and it was really enjoyable. It perked us up no end. When we got home the garden seemed to have bloomed in three days. The snowdrops and crocuses had come out and daffodils were budding. If this is global warming I rather like it - for the moment anyway and until I am reminded of the disadvantages of a very early spring.

In the house on the doormat was Saturday's post. One envelope was marked Rural Payments Agency. When I opened it I discovered that our SFP was about to be or may even have been paid into the bank. My cup runneth over.

My father employed two landgirls during the 2nd World War. One was the daughter of the Chief Rabi in Norwich and the other came from an even more genteel background, also from Norwich. Their urban upbringing meant they were not immediately very useful, although one of them was quicker to learn than the other. She was the one who later had an affair with the head cowman. I still remember his wife coming into the farmyard and giving her a good thrashing. I was just a boy at the time with no great understanding of such matters. But as far as I know the land girl left to work on another farm, the affair blew over and everything returned to normal.

The above might seem to indicate the said ladies were more trouble than they were worth. There is no doubt some of them did cause problems and perhaps my father was unlucky with the ones he was allocated. But others in our village virtually ran the farms on which they worked. They became stalwarts of the War effort and contributed significantly to the Dig for Victory campaign.

More than 60 years on I doubt if many people realise how close this country came to starvation. At one point, after German submarines had sunk whole fleets of merchant ships bringing food to us across the Atlantic, we were within just a few days of running out. Of course, we didn't find this out until well after the conflict was over. But it was a close run thing.

At the peak of their employment in 1944 some 70,000 land girls worked UK on farms. There were few tractors in those days so it was mainly hand work and using horses. Can you imagine what that meant to girls reared in towns who had never before been near an animal bigger than a dog?

On Wednesday I shall be chairing the Sentry Conference at Chilford Hall, just south of Cambridge. I am pleased to report its a sell-out and nearly 400 people will be there to listen to a distiguished line-up of speakers on the theme of "Matching the Food, Energy and Environmental Challenge". So, what I am about to say may, on the face of it be considered unimportant to me. My concern, however, is for the future.

Because on the same day, Feb 6th, there's to be an event on beet growing at the East of England Showground organised by British Sugar and another on water quality and NVZ's at Newmarket racecourse. All three events are within a few miles of one another and are potentially of considerable interest to East Anglian farmers. Some of the delegates to each of them might have preferred to be able to visit at least one of the others.

My point is that there is surely a need for a national directory of planned events of interest to farmers so that anyone planning a programme can refer to it and choose a date that is free. It would clearly have to be voluntary in that anyone prepared to take the risk of doubling up could do so. But it would help avoid frustration among punters and poor attendances by farmers.

Maybe such an agency already exists. It certainly should in these days of electronic communications. If so I hope someone will respond to this and tell me. If not someone might think it appropriate to start one. Perhaps even Farmers Weekly! I look forward to developments.

Its been a hectic week - hence my absence from these pages. As previously mentioned I chaired the Sentry Conference at Chilford Hall, near Cambridge, on Wednesday. Actually, I arrange it as well so I have quite a lot of effort invested in the event that goes on virtually year round.

All seemed to be going well at the beginning of the week. All bases were covered. No problems.

Then, on Tuesday morning when I fired up my laptop, I found an email from my keynote speaker, Prof Bob Thompson of the University of Illinois, USA. Sorry David, he said, but I'm snowed in. No aircraft are flying and I will not be able to be at your conference.

I was just beginning to think I might have to make a speech myself to fill the gap, when another email from Bob came through. I have attached my powerpoint slides, he said, maybe I could get up at 4.00am (10.00am UK time) and talk about them by a telephone link if your audio visual guys can connect me to the conference loudspeakers.

Having spent the last ten days basking in bright sunshine and temperatures well into the 20'sC as I travelled around Spain looking at farming, the snow and frost that have covered Norfolk for the last few days was something of a shock to the system.

In Spain the autumn sown bearded wheat was already coming into ear and sugar beet leaves were meeting across the rows as we hope they do in late June in this country. Back home, I had hoped all our sugar beet would have been drilled by the time I returned but not a wheel has turned.

To be honest sugar beet seeds, which like warmth to encourage them to germinate, would not have enjoyed current conditions and the 40% of the UK's national crop that was drilled before the weather turned nasty won't have developed much even though they were drilled earlier than normal. The same is almost as true of spring barley, although both crops should grow away once we get a bit of sun.

Is this global warming or just climate confusion? After a balmy winter we should have been able to walk around in shirtsleeves by now. Someone up there has got his seasons mixed up.

Kevin Spacey, the artistic director of the Old Vic theatre, complains that by featuring programmes such as "Any Dream Will Do" to select a leading lady for "The Sound of Music" and "I'd do Anything" to find an actress to play Nancy in "Oliver" is giving an unfair advantage to the musical theatre. "When are they going to run a talent competition for a play?" he asks.

I know how he feels. I've been thinking for years that the BBC gives an unfair advantage to organic farming compared with responsible conventional food production. Organic represents about 3% of UK production and probably 5% to 7% of consumption. But if you took the media as your guide you might think it accounted for more than 80% to 90% of what we eat in this country. The vast majority of our home produced daily food seldom gets a mention these days, even on so called farming programmes.

The truth is that producers follow their own likes and dislikes. In terms of entertainment this means majoring on what is likely to attract the biggest audience. When it comes to food, producers are selected by middle class food snobs who choose people like themselves to run programmes. It's surprising, perhaps, that despite their efforts, organic remains a tiny minority.

Don't get me wrong, I love musicals and enjoy the programmes Kevin Spacey complains about. I am, on occasions happy to eat organic food because I don't think it does me any harm - except financially. But don't expect representative balance from the BBC. They don't do that any more.

Next Tuesday evening BBC Three will screen a programme it made in the sweat shops of India. It features a group of British girls who had been in the habit of buying cheap fashions made in the sweat shops of India, China and other low wage countries in Asia, wearing them once and then discarding them. The programme arranged for the extravagant girls to work and live for a month in those sweat shops alongside the locals and to receive the same pay.

Suffice to say the girls were appalled at what they experienced and have returned to Britain vowing never to buy cheap fashion items again. They had not realised what goes on in the name of cutting prices of the things they previously bought in this countrys' High Streets and now they do they no longer wish to benefit from it.

In my travels around the world I have seen similar exploitation of labour on farms. Often the produce of those farms is exported to supermarkets in this country. Those who do such work are seldom able, given the minimal wages they receive, to afford the produce they help to grow and pack. But western consumers buy it at low prices without a thought for the welfare of those who make it possible. To be fair most are not even aware of the exploitation involved.

It occurs to me that a similar TV programme featuring British consumers working alongside Third World farm workers might persuade them and perhaps viewers to stop taking cheap food for granted. Until something like that happens the people of this country will continue to buy as cheaply as possible, incurring more and more food miles and later tip a lot of it into the waste bin.

Five years ago a Norfolk based exhibition company decided there was a gap in the market for a game and countryside event in East Anglia. They approached the Royal Norfolk Agricultural Association with a view to hiring its showground for a spring weekend. A deal was done and the first East Anglian Game and Country Fair was held.

It was a great success and the decision was made to hold it annually. Five years on and the organisers are confidently expecting a crowd of over 40,000 at the showground during the two day fair next Saturday and Sunday.

In fact it has almost become a mini Norfolk Show with more than 300 trade stands featuring all aspects of country life, shooting, fishing, fly casting, clay pigeon shooting, duck driving with sheepdogs, falconry and so on.

There will be entertainment in the main arena, including parachute jumping, horse logging and many other activities to amuse the crowd. And this year local food is being featured as well with some of East Anglia's top chefs in attendance.

It's been a hard winter and spring is not proving much easier. I reckon I deserve an enjoyable day out among people I like and I certainly intend to have a wander round to update myself on the latest in country sports. Doubtless I shall also meet lots of old friends who I haven't seen for ages. It will be worth the effort for that alone. Maybe I'll see you there too.

Earlier this week I went, with a group of LEAF farmers on a course, to Grimsby fish market. To our unpracticed eyes it all seemed rather chaotic as autioneers and buyers in the harbourside shed crowded round the boxes of fish. There were cod, haddock, place, one enormous halibut and red fish whose name I never caught. But the white coated insiders knew exactly what they were doing - just as we farmers would at a cattle or sheep market.

But the saddest thing we learned was that whereas fifty years ago hundreds of trawlers were based there, these days only about twenty fishing boats work out of Grimsby. Between them they account for about ten percent of all the fish handled through the port. The other 90% are imported from Iceland, Norway and the Faroes. That said, Grimsby facilities and expertise are still used to process 70% of the fish consumed in this country. Its just that most are caught in Icelandic waters instead of the North Sea, landed at Reykjavik, then trans-shipped to Grimsby for the UK market. Among other things it means most of the "fresh" fish we eat in this country will have been caught at least a week previously.

The decline of this once prosperous port has been brought about, we were told, more by misguided EU quota regulations together with the waste of fish caused by fishermen having to discard all undersized fish they catch because they are not allowed to land them than by over fishing. And all around the coast the UK fleet has been decimated in the same way and for the same reasons.

We farmers felt their pain and hoped fervently that our industry would not be similarly destroyed by regulations written by uninformed bureacrats who had never set foot on a fishing boat or a farm. But we recognised the parallels and were not at all complacent as we left the sad run down town.

I shall be on my way back from a study tour of the American mid west on June 1st so will not be able to participate in the LEAF inspired Open Farm Sunday on June 1st. But we did open the farm for last years event and as a result were asked if we would host a Rogation Service for the village church this year. We were pleased to do so.

It happened yesterday and about fifty turned up. The local lay reader led the service as we walked to various points and crops around the farm. From time to time we stopped for a hymn (accompanied by a battery powered keyboard) and a prayer to bless the crop and the countryside around it. The service was based on that distributed by the Rank Centre at the Royal Showground.

At each stop I was invited to explain what we were looking at and what it was used for. Inevitably I used the occasion to express some opinions on world hunger and the need for more production. And to compensate for the fact that the crops were in their early stages of spring growth I showed samples of wheat, together with bread and biscuits made from it; rape seed and a bottle of rape cooking oil grown on a LEAF farm; and so on. The main idea of this was to educate the children but I noticed the adults taking notice as well.

Apart from the hymns and the prayers it was a bit like the Open Sunday we'd hosted a year ago. And without exception the "congregation" thanked us profusely for allowing them to visit the farm. Well worthwhile in my view and it salved my conscience a bit at not being around for June 1st.

I can't remember a year when Spring has sprung as fast and dramatically as it has this time. The cool damp weather clearly held everything back but as soon as we had a few warm days (and nights) crops (and trees and hedges and weeds) exploded into growth. Its been an absolute pleasure to watch it all happening over recent days and prospects for decent yields later in the year suddenly seem better. Or perhaps its just sunshine on my back that makes me feel that way.

Whatever, the change has co-incided with the start of the asparagus season. I've eaten it in Peru, where the taste is slightly insipid, probably because its grown incredibly fast in the hot climate and on a virtual beach with added fertiliser. A year ago I ate some white asparagus in Germany covered in Hollandaise sause. It was better than the Peruvian stuff but I still think the way we grow it in this country produces the best taste and texture. I'm right with chef, Gordon Ramsey, on that one and its true of most other fresh produce grown in this country as well.

Fortunately we have near neighbours who are masters of the asparagus art and we collect fresh supplies regularly through the season. Yes, I know it makes your pee smell but thats a price that I am very pleased to pay.

Idly browsing FWi this morning I came across a puzzling and potentially fascinating development. Chrissie Lawrence had superimposed an entry about dairy champions at the Great Yorkshire Show onto Matt Naylors normally crop based blog site.

Now, I'm not the sort of person to start rumours. But I can't help wondering what's going on. Is there something happening between the two of them? Are they using the blog site for trysts? Is this a cunning plan to add a little love interest for users?

I think we should be told.

The Wayland Show is south west Norfolk's local one day show. It was held yesterday (Sunday) and attracted an estimated 10,000 people, which isn't bad for an event in a field on a showery day, Maybe the showers helped, in fact. They stopped combines from working and enabled farmers and farm workers who might have been otherwise employed to join in the fun.

This years success, however, is even more gratifying for the organisers who have had a couple of difficult years. In 2006 the ground was so dry it was considered a fire risk and the whole event was cancelled. Last year Foot & Mouth disease broke out in the south east of England the day before the event and all cattle, sheep and pig entries had to be cancelled at the last minute.

But what a good show of livestock this year. If I were cynical I would suggest there were almost as many entries forward as at the Royal Show. Certainly they provided a spectacle for those who attended and a nice touch was the bagpiper playing beside the ring while the Highlanders were being judged. 

There was a food hall featuring local produce (and a few other things) lots of craft and trade stands (I ordered a flying hawk thats supposed to frighten pigeons on rape fields from one of them) and a full ring programme. It was an old fashioned, local, community, agricultural show. And those of us who attended enjoyed it very much indeed. 

Following the highly successful auction of pieces by Damien Hirst at Sotheby's which grossed over £70m in one day, including more than £10m for a dead calf, I have decided to auction a few of my own artistic creations. With luck they will attract the attention of underbidders at the Hirst event and the income generated will go part way towards paying for next years nitrogen fertiliser.

The first piece is the carcass of a dead pigeon preserved in red diesel fuel. It was the first casualty to be found attacking this years rape crops and was shot by me on Sept 14th with a twelve bore and a 28gm number 6 cartridge. It is entitled "Gottcha you b......".

The second piece on offer is a plaster cast of a rut in one of our harvest fields featuring the tread of a rare Michelin tyre and the unmistakable marks made by really sad stubble and a few sprouted grains, the whole decorated in a sticky dirty yellowy brown. I have named it "2008- a harvest to hate."

And the third item on offer during this unusual opportunity to acquire contemporary art of great distinction is a piece of genuine dung produced by a pedigree Friesian of my close acquaintance, moulded into an artistic shape and presented in a sealed surround of transparent plastic. I call it "Norfolk Bull sh-one-t".

I think you will find these items of peculiar and topical interest and irresistable. There will be a reserve price on each of £1m.

What am I bid?

It gives me great pleasure to see people picking blackberries along our roadside hedges. I feel such people must appreciate the countryside. Most are middle aged or elderly. You don't see many young people doing it. And like them I can think of no better dessert for an autumn Sunday lunch than blackberry and apple tart.

This year the harvest of the hedgerows is huge. You don't have to pick for long to get a bowl full. Which must give our local pickers even greater satisfaction than usual as they take advantage of the free food during the credit crunch.

But why do some of them leave their cars parked along narrow lanes restricting and delaying tractors trying to drill wheat? And when we workers try to access our fields through gateways in which other of their vehicles have been left why do the drivers behave as if we shouldn't be there and that their right of way greater is than ours?

So, despite my instinctive pleasure at seeing the pickers I am sometimes almost guilty of blackberry rage. If any of them read this I ask them, please, to accept that some of us have work to do and to park their cars accordingly.

I ran into John Torode, presenter of MasterChef, restaurateur of Smiths of Smithfield and President of the RASE at the Farmers Weekly Awards last week. I heard him speak the following day at the EFFP conference. There's no doubt he knows his food and furthermore is a strong advocate of that produced on British farms.

In my view he's an inspired choice as next years RASE President. In his own words he's a rough, tough Austrailian, so different from many of the toffs who've preceded him and at the sharp end of the food trade. His huge four story restaurant is, by all accounts, highly successful using only home grown ingredients. And his blunt, uncompromising approach might well shake up the RASE more than its organisers currently realise.

The other thing I liked is that he apparently reads Farmers Weekly every week. So, how can he fail to make an impact?

John Sergeant does a one-man stand-up entertainment when he's not prancing around the dancefloor with Kristina Rihanoff, aka sex on legs. When I heard him at an NFU dinner he told how, after he retired from being the BBC's political correspondent, he had been invited to participate in a celebrity reality TV programme.

It sounded great, he said, in his gentle understated way. "They would fly me out to South Africa and they promised lots of time on golden beaches and they'd teach me to water ski. I was about to accept with enthusiasm but then I thought to ask the title of the programme. It was Celebrity Sharkbait. So I decided to gracefully decline."

That's the kind of self deprecating humour that has endeared the man to viewers and led them to vote for him despite his dreadful dancing. That and the fact that voting him off might mean they saw less of the gyrating and scantily clad Kristina, I suspect. Although I, of course, could make no further comment on that.

But noting the media furore over his dancing and the even bigger one over his resignation from the show it occurred to me how useful it would be to get that kind of publicity for farming. Could we, for instance, get Henry Plumb on the programme next time? He's got loads of anecdotes to entertain the viewers whether he can dance or not. Choose a partner with similar attributes to Kristina and he'd be well away. And I'm sure he could keep viewers on tenterhooks over whether or not he would stay the course.

Anyway, I leave the thought with the PR department of the NFU. I'm sure they'll take it seriously. Just don't make the mistake of getting Peter Kendall onto "I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here".I don't think he'd enjoy kangaroo's testicles.

I was deterbined, despite the fact that by dose is streabing and by head feels like its going to explode, to wish you the compliments of the season.

This virus hit be over the weekend and I have beed suffering ever since. Some people would complaid and look for sympathy, of course. But I'b dot like that. I suffer in silence and keep by problebs to byself. I just don't want to burded others with by paid. But thed I've always beed a selfless and long suffering patient. I think, with contidued nursing and lots of TLC, I shall probably survive and be able to rejoid the world sobetime in 2009. When I do I shall expect everybody to treat be gently recogdising what I''ve beed through.

Id the beantibe I hope you are feeling better than be and that you have a Happy Dew Year.

The best cow I ever milked was called Daydream. She wasn't really dreamy. In fact she was always at the head of the herd coming into the milking parlour and headed straight for her favourite stall. I should,perhaps, make clear that this was in the days of side by side parlours. Herringbones and other more modern layouts don't lend themselves to such choice.

Daydream acquired her name because her first calf was born in the year when all heifers entering the herd were given a name beginning with D. The following year they began with E and then F and so on. We didn't have computers or fancy recording systems then and this simple device enabled us to know without thinking how old a cow was and how many calves she had had. We seldom brought more than a dozen new heifers into our modest sized herd (by todays standards) each year so thinking up the names was not too onerous.

Did they give more milk than todays numbered animals? I really can't say because I had nothing to compare. We'd sold our herd before numbers came in. Although I have always believed a cow would perform better if treated as an individual and I suppose it would be a little difficult to become attached to an animal called 257. On the other hand I cannot believe a cow is capable of knowing whether she is known by a name or a number. 

Do hens lay more eggs if they are called Henrietta? Do ewes have more lambs if they are called Mary? I doubt it. What matters most, surely, is that all farm animals are treated with care and kindness. Then they'll perform at their best and provide both satisfaction and profit for those who own them. I would not have thought it would be necessary for a university study of over 500 cows to confirm it.

Free advertisements for plum jobs are not normal in these pages but I thought the one I saw in the Sunday Times today should be a notable exception.

The Rural Payments Agency is looking for a Head of Operational Performance; starting salary £43,332/annum plus generous pension and annual leave with other unspecified benefits.

The successful candidate will be "dynamic and inspirational" in improving the performance of the Agency "to meet the changing needs of our stakeholders".

Excuse me but I thought the needs were substantially the same as when the RPA was initiated - to deliver statutory Single Farm Payments to farmers accurately and on time.

But the ad says the key accountabilites over the next 12 months will be "co-ordinating and managing a wide range of Management Information (MI) and working closely with stakeholders to make sure performance improvement initiatives are in place and the Agency's targets are achieved."

Exactly what that official jargon means is not clear. Are farmers the chief stakeholders or is government? If the former, lets hope, once a candidate is selected, that we can expect a dramatic speeding up of SFP payments. If the latter and the government is the dominant stakeholder, who knows what the new priorities will be? Given the financial crisis we might find ourselves, like Irish farmers, receiving our payments in installments.

 Either way, it is typical of government agencies that it has taken so long to seek someone who is "passionate about continuously improving the service provided to our customers" (which surely must be farmers?) after such a mediocre few years.

Its several years since I attended a YFC Convention. The last was at Blackpool (like the one held this weekend) where my wife and I joined Henry Plumb (sorry, Lord Plumb) in judging the Miss National Young Farmer competition. I'm not even sure if they have such events now. Maybe they've bowed to political correctness and deleted it from their activities. If so I think its a pity. After all it was merely an extension of Young Farmers stock judging. You're looking for well sprung ribs, good sound legs, well developed muscle where the expensive meat is and so on. Perhaps I've said enough.

And I digress. Conventions, or AGM's as they were called when I was a Young Farmer and usually held in London, provide an opportunity for YFC members to get together with like minded young people from around the country. There are high spirits, of course. That's what youth is about. Although its a pity the Blackpool police chose to close the bars early at the fancy dress ball. From what I hear there was little or no justification for such action and it perpetuates the myth that all YFC's are about is drinking. Yes, there have been a few unfortunate incidents perpetrated by a few unruly individuals at past conventions but I had hoped the organisation had managed to live that down.

However, there are plenty of positive things at such get togethers. A talk by John Geldart, a past winner of the title Farmers Weekly Farmer of the Year, for instance. As always John gave excellent value as he encouraged members to become actively involved in their parent industry. And huge sums given to charity by clubs from all over the country. What a pity that doesn't get more publicity. 

The YFC movement, albeit smaller than it was when there were more people working in farming, is still a beacon of excellence in the countryside. It should be encouraged by all possible means. And I for one am grateful to it for providing me with a wife, a career and countless lifelong friends.

It must be this sudden burst of Bank Holiday sunny weather. Two things have happened. I've been sneezing and rubbing my eyes because of all the pollen floating around in the atmosphere. It's really quite uncomforatable and my eyes are continuously sore. Sun glasses help but only a little.

Then yesterday afternoon when temperatures were at their highest I heard a loud humming outside the kitchen window. I looked out to see a swarm of bees outside the window and when I went to investigate further I found they were buzzing in and out of a ventilation brick beside the back door. I assume the queen must have decided the vent would make a good new home and led her drones and workers with her.

Trouble was there wasn't enough room in the wall for the whole swarm and before I could stop them thousands (well, OK, hundreds) had invaded the kitchen. Fortunately most stayed at one end of the room by the window enabling me to get to the phone and ring our pest controller. He was fishing for cod ten miles off Southwold when he answered his mobile but assured me he would be here to deal with the problem as soon as he came ashore.

A few hours later he arrived by which time most of the bees had gone to bed with their queen and sadly a lot more had died as they tried to find their way out of the kitchen. Sadder still, because I like bees and what they do for us, the only way for our pest man to deal with the swarm was to kill them in the wall.

The problem is now over and there are no more insects in the house. But at a time when bees are dieing from foul brood disease and numbers are also being depleted by other mysterious problems I regretted what we had to do. But you can't live in the same space as a swarm of bees - unless, of course, your'e another bee.

I know just how the tennis authorities at Wimbledon must be feeling. Many years ago after a succession of wet harvests we decided to install a continuous flow drier. We had relied for too long on under floor ventilation to dry our grain and with tightening regulations on moisture content felt we must go for a faster and more positive solution. We saved up, borrowed more, worked hard all spring and summer to complete the work on time - and what happened? That harvest we had some of the best weather on record and we never fired up the new drier once.

As the Wimbledon officials look forward to the next week or two they must be wondering about the wisdom of their investment. The forecast is for perfect tennis weather. Hot and dry all the way. OK, the forecasters may be wrong but at present the tens of millions spent on the new roof over Center Court must look like a white elephant.

But a word of comfort - if my experience is any guide they may feel that way now but in years to come they will be pleased they spent the money. I just wish I could afford to erect a temporary cover over all my fields just before harvest. It would make for much less stressful combining.

Way back in the 1960's I was a freelance broadcaster for the BBC, contributing to such radio programmes as "On Your Farm" and TV shows like "Farming" broadcast each Sunday lunchtime. Both were produced from Birmingham and the BBC deemed it appropriate to host a cocktail party each summer in its own sizeable entertainment marquee at the Royal Show by way of appreciation of its agricultural contributors.

In those days, remember, the Beeb had eight regional agricultural programme producers and a London based staff as well. Some of the chiefs from London used to grace us with their presence on these occasions. Farming mattered in those days. And the Royal Show was pretty good too, attracting huge attendances from all over the country to the then relatively new permanent site at Stoneleigh.

Those of us reporting from the Show hardly had time to attend these BBC jolly's because we were busy chasing round the ground doing interviews. But it was a three line whip and we had to attend if at all possible.

I well remember one occasion when the London based boss of Radio 4 was hosting that I arrived late for the champagne and his speech. I slid into the marquee hoping no-one would notice. But the great man's wife - a lady of considerable proprotions - buttonholed me. "Hello", she boomed, "and who are you?" Oh, I'm just a freelance who does interviews for BBC programmes", I replied. "But most of the time I'm a farmer".

"And where do you farm?" asked the lady, looking for all the world like a galleon in full sail. "I farm in Norfolk", I replied. "Oh, poor you", she said, "but I suppose one has to live in a place like that if you want to farm". My hackles rose and I asked her why she felt the way she did about my county of which I was and still am proud.

"Well", she went on "I'm told its so flat and it must be a cultural desert and I gather there are no decent roads to get there". "Well madam", I replied, "it is nothing like as flat as you seem to believe; it is certainly not a cutural desert and even if the roads are less good than yours in the south east at least it keeps people like you out". I think she got the message. I was perhaps fortunate not to get the sack.

However, these days and indeed for several years now, the BBC presence at the Royal Show has been a caravan or two from which to transmit outside broadcasts. There's no entertainment and no champagne. That, it appears is now reserved for the Glastonbury festival where something over 400 BBC people were paid to spend their time over the weekend.

I suppose we should be grateful that the event actually takes place on a farm. But the juxtaposition over the years of pop music being more important than food production could be interpreted as an interesting commentary on changed priorities over the last half century. I wonder if they will turn up for next weeks wake for the Royal Show?

A survey on farmer favourability conducted for the NFU has shown that consumers opinions on our industry are improving. They are, according to England Marketing who asked the questions, increasingly aware of the importance of farmers in improving food security, quality and freshness. Virtually all responses showed UK farmers in a more favourable light than at this time last year.

Some 84% of respondents now believe farming will become increasingly important over coming years while 59% agree that farmers treat their animals well and are doing a good job of protecting the countryside and helping in the battle against climate change.

Significantly, given the NFU's strong advocacy of a supermarket watchdog, 76%, 9% more than last year, believed supermarkets were driving UK farmers out of business.

Other selected findings indicate that 77% of consumers prefer British produce to imported; 96% said growing crops was more important than maintaining footpaths; 89% said farmers should regard using pesticides safely as a top priority; and over 80% would not object strongly if genetically modified crops were grown in this country, with 56% saying their trust in farmers would not be undermined if they grew them. Moreover, 11% said GM crops were the future of farming.

More generally, 73% of the public described their view of farmers as favourable. This compares with 67% in 2005. All of which sounds like good news - always provided those consumers, and more particularly the retailers from whom they buy their groceries, are prepared to pay fair prices to suppliers.

I went to the Game Fair for the first time in several years. Set in the beautiful countryside around Belvoir castle it was much bigger than I remember it and from the size of the crowd and the almost palpable enjoyment being had by all was clearly successful.

I was there to take part in a FW sponsored debate on food security - of which more elsewhere on this site. Afterwards I was interviewed for a radio station and the interviewer, who clearly had a lot of time to fill, went on asking me questions for ages. Among other things he wanted to know why so many people came to such an event, run as it is by landowners and toffs.

My reply was that virtually all those who attended were clearly country people. Yes, there were plenty of toffs around but there were gamekeepers, beaters, picker-uppers, horse and dog lovers and so on. In short the entire crowd were country lovers in whichever category. That was what united them and why the Game Fair works so well as an event.

I am aware, of course, that this could be construed as a weakness; that countryside interests need to improve relationships with urban dwellers and help them understand what makes us tick. But maybe thats for another day, another occasion. In the meantime we rural types were very happy in one anothers company over the weekend.

So, the Met office has had to eat humble pie over its forecast of a "barbecue" summer. "We only used the word to help tabloids with their headlines" they bleat. "And it was hot for a couple of weeks in June".

If thats the best they can do with the help of millions of pounds worth of satellite technology and hundreds if not thousands of scientists and forecasters, I have to wonder if all the effort is worthwhile. When I was a boy we had to rely on sayings like "red sky at night, shepherds delight" and "rain before seven stops by eleven". Whats more those old sayings are a pretty good guide to whats going to happen.

And when it comes to forecasting summer weather the traditional rule that says if its raining on July 15th - St Swithins day - it will be unsettled for forty days - is usually correct. And surprise, surprise, without giving any credit to the Saint, thats exactly what the Met office has now come up with. "It will be unsettled but there may be a period of hot, dry weather towards the end of August."

All I can say is come back St Swithin, all is forgiven. And lets save some money on the Met Office.

The author of what came to be called the Green Revolution, Norman Borlaug, died last Saturday aged 95. Back in the 1960's countries like India, Pakistan and Mexico were constantly on the brink of famine. Borlaug, an Iowan farmers son, who grew up in the Dirty Thirties of Mid West America had long been concerned at poor farming practices that led to such phenomena and the need to feed the starving millions.

He developed drought resistant strains of cereals that increased yields in dry countries by huge amounts. Some claim he saved the lives of hundreds of millions of people in Developing Countries. For this pioneering humanitarian work he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

But his successes in producing more food around the world involved greater intensification of agriculture and this attracted criticism from environmentalists. Moreover, during the latter part of his life he was vilified by the green movement.

I for one hope that he became aware during his final days of growing concerns over food security and that his work was once again receiving the respect it deserved. For he was a great man of vision and there are many people alive in the world today who would not have survived without his pioneering activities. 

One of my long held ambitions is to visit New England in the "fall" when the leaves on the trees in the huge forests there turn from green to their autumn colours before being blown away leaving the branches bare until spring. I've seen photographs and the colours are glorious. But its always too busy on the farm at this time of year to find time to take a trip to look at them on the ground, so to speak.

But there really is no need this year. Leaves here at home are turning to yellows and browns and reds and what is more, in the absence of brisk breezes recently, they are clinging to the trees. OK, so we don't have the volume they do in the North Eastern corner of the USA but the colours in our small woods and copses are just as dramatic and I am enjoying them.

With the £ worth so little against the $ and the value of wheat well below cost of production I probably couldn't afford a trip stateside anyway. So I will satisfy myself with local pleasures.

Norman Painting - the voice of Phil Archer - who has just died aged 85, was a charming man. I used to meet him occasionally when I went to the BBC's Pebble Mill Studio's in the1970's and before that their Broad Street predecessor in Birmingham to present real farming programmes.

But physically he was as unlike his radio image as it was possible to imagine. He probably stood no more than 5 feet 6 or 7 inches and rather than the swarthy weather beaten look of most farmers he was delicately built and wore a goatee beard. Despite that he was an excellent actor and writer and turned in convincing performances as Phil for over fifty years. He will be much missed.

I met several of the Archers cast at various times. Gwen Berryman for instance, who was Phil's radio mother, looked and behaved just like her fictional alter ego and the actor who played Dan, her husband and the original patriach of the soap, looked like he could have been a real farmer.

In those early days, before there were hundreds of TV channels, The Archers was even more popular than it is today. I well remember, in 1955, I was visiting my father in hospital where he had just had a hernia operation. Visiting time was 7.00pm and at that time the programme was broadcast at 6.45pm. As I walked into the ward at the beginning of visiting time every patient in every bed was in the middle of taking off their wireless headphones and all looked aghast.

Whats the matter? I asked my father who looked equally shocked. "Grace is dead" he replied with a face as white as the sheets he was lying on and went on to explain how Phil Archers first wife, Grace, had been burned to death trying to rescue her horse from a fire in the stable and how Phil had had to be restrained from going in there to try to rescue her. It was an incredible illustration of how powerful radio drama can be. All those hernia patients felt they had lost a real friend and it was more painful than the operations they had just endured.

And what a "spoiler" for the first night of ITV. Hey ho. Those were the days.

I've been chasing around recently with no time to blog or even think straight. It hasn't helped that I've had tooth ache which was eventually dealt with by a rather painful root canal or that the trains I have travelled on have nearly all been late. One (which happened to be early) between Norwich and London looked and smelled as if it had not been cleaned for a month, there was no water in the taps or the toilet and it was a disgrace to National Express. OK, I know they've had financial problems recently but this is a busy line and if they can't present their trains better than that they don't deserve customers.

There, I feel better now I've got that off my chest.

One area I haven't visited is Cumbria. But like everyone else I've seen the pictures of flooding on the news and been appalled. I feel almost guilty that I complained so much about drought earlier in the autumn. For the record we've had just about the right amount of rain now although it has been accompanied by too much wind. But I will stop complaining at this point and express my sincere sympathy for householders and farmers in the affected areas. We have family in Cumbria and thankfully they have missed the worst of the deluge. But others will suffer for months or longer and I feel so sorry for them.

The Financial Times wouldn't immediately spring to mind as the paper to read for sophisticated humour. But every so often the economically trained writers fix their gaze on some anomaly of contemporary life and turn it into a laugh.

Years ago I remember a little gem of a pretend advert which said "Communist with own knife and fork seeks fellow communist with own steak and kidney pudding".

Then the other day there was a report of an article that had appeared in the Scientific American magazine. Come the food crisis, the piece had apparently said, we should grow crops nourished by solar powered lamps and irrigated with domestic waste water on each floor of purpose-built skyscrapers.

To which the FT helpfully put forward what it claimed was an even better solution. Use land, it suggested, fields of which can be found in the countryside. Sunlight and rain would fall on the crops without the use of expensive technology. And these "food augmentation resource modules" could be given the snappy acronym "Farms".

Perhaps its my memory playing tricks but my feeling is that 2008 was a pretty good year on the whole. 2009 on the other hand has been b..... awful for me both personally and business wise and I can't wait for it to be over.

And as if to emphasise the fact, yesterday we had a couple of horses from the livery running round on our lawn. It will not be difficult for you to imagine the damage they did. Just a few days after 8 inches of snow had melted and with all the frost having left the ground they had a wonderful time galloping round and round the chestnut tree. The worst part of it was that they only got out of their paddock because one of the livery girls had failed to fasten the gate properly, so it could have been avoided. Too much alcohol over Christmas, I suppose.

OK, its not the end of the world and I expect a few hours with a flat shovel and later in the spring a heavy roll will put the matter right by next summer. Either that, or as some wag suggested, we could use the deep hoof prints as a putting green. I didn't find that very funny. 

So, roll on 2010. And I just hope my usually sunny temperament, which has been severely tested in 2009, recovers to its happy habit and that there are fewer reasons for me to lose my rag during the next twelve months. 

Happy New Year.

And I am very glad I did wear my winter draws - and vest - when I attended the Oxford Conference this week. By the time I bailed out at about 11am on the second day, Wednesdy, (my apologies to the speakers on after that but I felt I was in danger of being snowed in) to catch a series of three trains back to Norfolk, there was at least nine inches of snow in Oxford and it was still snowing. For the record the trains were delayed but the journey was not too bad and with changes I made it in just under five hours. I reckon it would have taken that in a car with road conditions the way they were and at least I could doze and read on the trains.

Back here in Norfolk on Wednesday evening there was nothing like as much snow as further west. But this morning I woke to find there had been about six inches overnight. Virtually every school in the county was closed and both road and rail transport were disrupted. I congratulated myself on getting home last evening.

Then I got a message from the livery yard that one of our workers had slid into a bank on the way into work and damaged his car. Could I collect him in my 4x4? I went and although the snow made me take it slowly I was fine and stable. The trouble was other motorists. Few, it seemed to me, had any idea how to drive on slippery surfaces. Most were revving and sliding and the biggest danger was other cars, out of control, smashing into me.

Anyway, we completed the thirty mile round trip without serious incident and got the livery worker here to do his job. Now, as soon as I have finished writing this, I have to take him home again. I just hope the horse owners appreciate the trouble we go to on their behalf.

Farming wise I am not too unhappy at the way the weather has turned. We got virtually all our ploughing done before Christmas, having completed autumn cereal drilling well before that. We do have a few more sugar beet to lift out of light land but none in clamp where they can suffer frost damage. The covering of snow should protect those still in the ground from too much damage. Otherwise I think the cold spell will do good to the soil, kill of  some pests and ensure we are able to make excellent seedbeds for spring crops.

I wish I could claim to have been surprised when I read over the weekend that staff at the Rural Payments Agency had been paid almost £2m in bonuses since 2005. I was angry, of course, that a body so consistently inefficient since its inception should have received anything other than severe censure. But the fact that they got extra payments, supposedly on merit as interpreted by government, says more about that government than it does the individuals who benefited.

The Sunday papers were also full of information about even bigger bonuses being paid to bankers. These are the people who we, the taxpayers, at the whim of government and without our permission, were bailed out just moths ago. And now, having not repaid a penny, they are awarding themselves obscene rewards because the economy has taken a modest upturn.

Will that apparent improvement last? Who knows? And if it doesn't will they repay their bonuses? Not on you life. The brass kneck of such people defies belief. Is it any wonder they are vilified by most of us?

I offer some free public relations advice to the bankers and RPA personnel which they should heed if they ever wish to regain the respect of the rest of society.

Take your bonuses if you must. But if you have any conscience at all, donate at least half of what you get to those poor earthquake victims in Haiti. Such an action might help you sleep at night. 

The Farmers Weekly party that visited South America recently had a number of earth moving experiences - as anyone in touch with the earthquake news will appreciate. Fortunately we were shaken but not damaged and have, I suspect, all been dining out on the experience since.

But we had one remarkable experience of a very different kind that I want to share with you.

One of the visits we made in Chile was to a llama farm. If I'm honest it was for a bit of light relief among the more serious farming that we looked at and few of us took it very seriously. It was run by two ladies who had around 260 of the animals on the farm. The llama's had, of course, been domesticated from the wild strains that roam the nearby Andes mountains where native Indians used to use them as pack animals.

One of the lady owners was a vet and she gave us a talk on llama's before we inspected the herd. She told how their fibre made warm garments and said they were also good to eat - rather like beef - although they were so pretty that few people wanted to slaughter them. And then she said they made good pets and were especially good companions for disabled people to the point of recognising and bonding with them. I confess I became a bit cynical at that point.

Later the entire party went out into a paddock to get a closer look at what were undoubtedly very attractive beasts. We stood there looking at them - all thirty of us - until, after a few minutes one of the bigger females came cautiously towards us. She walked through the noisy crowd until she came to one member of the party, a regular traveller on our tours, who is blind. 

To our amazement she went straight to him and nuzzled his neck and then licked his cheek. She stood by him with loud chatter going on all around for at least ten minutes as our blind friend patted and got to know her. Then she rejoined the rest of the herd. 

If we hadn't seen it we would probably not have believed it. I always wondered what llama's were for. Perhaps this unrehearsed demonstration provided the answer. I shall certainly try not to be so cynical about them in future. 

Its obviously been a thin week for news - so long as you exclude election speculation which is becoming more repetitive and boring the nearer we get to the event. In any event the Easter weekend's newspapers, in an attempt, no doubt, to mark the bridge between winter and spring in the countryside, have filled many column inches and in some cases whole pages with chit chat about the growing list of rich and famous who own farms.

Time was when this sort of thing annoyed me. Why do reporters go to such fly-by-night, hobby land owners who suffer none of the financial or physical hardships of proper farmers in order to write about food production? Most of them don't have a clue about real farming when they invest some of the millions earned from pop singing or taking off most of their clothes for the camera's and yet suddenly they become, in the eyes of the press, representatives of long established rural residents with whom they have nothing in common. Furthermore most of them have the luxury of persuing outlandish systems of farming and claiming they have discovered the Holy Grail.

There, that's off my chest and I feel better.

On further reflection perhaps I am generalising and being too critical. Over time our celebrity neighbours, or some of them, do learn about the realities and a few begin to start talking sense. And like it or not, the media listens to and reports what they say. On balance then, with those that look and learn and eventually see the light, it is possible that such people might do our industry more good than harm.

But I am talking about the ones who join in with rural life and genuinely try to learn and help communities. I still can't be doing with the ones who turn up once in a blue moon in their helicopters without even giving the time of day to their less fortunate neighbours. The quicker they return to their penthouses in the City the better.

About ten years ago the Agricultural Editor of the Eastern Daily Press (Norfolks daily paper), Michael Pollitt, came to those of us running the Norfolk Show at the time with a bright idea for a new event. How about a show for children during the Easter School Holidays? he said. Its usually too cold for the beach at that time of year and after a couple of weeks of having the kids round their feet parents and grandparents would jump at the chance of having somewhere sensible to take them before they go back to school. 

We immediately realised what a good idea it was and the annual Spring Fling was born. Run in association with the daily paper it attracts over 5,000 people these days and is judged a great success by virtually all of them. This years event took place last Thursday.

We realised from the start that an event for children must be interactive. We invited firms and organisations from the county to think up educational activities that were fun for the children and interesting for the adults who accompanied them. And its worked a treat. The kids queue up to make collages of different grains while learning, along with their parents and grandparents, where those grains come from and what foods they make. They can all take tractor and trailer rides around the site, looking at sheepdog demonstrations, dog training, and other rural persuits as they go.

There are competitions and activities all around the showground with stands from outfits like the NFU, Bernard Matthews and the John Innes Institute alongside a local dairy farmers giving away small cartons of milk, LIPS ladies offering freshly cooked sausages and the Young Farmers showing how to decorate bread with tast spread, then toast it and eat it. There's more. much more and at the end of the day everyone has some pork in a roll from a hog roast.

Spring Fling has become one of the most wotthwhile events put on by the Royal Norfolk Agricultural Association and the idea has been copied by several other shows. Once again my proud (yet modest) county has demonstrated that it remains at the forefront of our great industry!

Its 8 years since Alexia Robinson launched British Food Fortnight. She says she dreamed up the idea while rowing down the Amazon so she swapped one mammoth task for another. Today it is a fixture in the agri-food calendar and her efforts have contributed significantly to the growing tendency among British consumers to buy more home produced food. This years event runs between Sept 18th and Oct 3rd and seems set to be an even bigger success than those that have gone before.

I popped in to the launch of this years BFF activities in London yesterday afternoon. And Alexia had not only gathered a bunch of ecstatic restaurant owners, hospital and school caterers and supermarket buyers and other interested parties but also The Hairy Bikers and HRH The Duchess of Cornwall - in a wheelchair having broken her leg.

They were all there to ensure this years BFF gets off to a good start but also to announce the fact that in Olympic Year, 2012, the dates of BFF are to be changed from the "Harvest Festival" season in the autumn to the last week of July and the first week of August to coincide with the Olympics.

As Jan Matthews, who is in charge of catering at the Olymic village, said at the launch the event is probably the biggest catering opportunity in the world. And as Adam Leyland, editor of The Grocer added, it provides a chance for the British food industry to show just how much it has improved in recent years. "I reckon our food is better than French these days", he declared.

 The Duchess then told the assembled company that she was a passionate believer in great British food and said how pleased she was to have been associated with the initiative.

So well done to all concerned. Now we - farmers, food processors, supermarkets and restaurants - need to get into training to cash in on this great opportunity. And its very relevant to note that the Olympic Committee has decreed that where British food is avaiable for those who participate in the games and who visit them, it must be used. Foreign food except exotic fruit perhaps, is set to be outlawed.

Two stories I have read in newspapers this weekend led to the headline above.

The first was about a proposal from German greens in the EU Parliament that coagulant rat poisons should be banned across the Union. This was the same group, you may remember, that succeeded in drastically cutting the number of agro-chemicals available to European farmers on the grounds that they contained traces of dangerous substances. They want to get rid of rat poison for the same reason - and probably because they think the poisons are cruel to rats.

It is such a nonsensical proposal that it is difficult to believe it is serious. But sadly it is. And apparently it stands a good chance of being made law. If it does, we can expect the entire Continent to be over-run by rats and for diseases like The Plague, which is spread by the dreadful creatures to appear again. Who knows what other epidemics might occur and where such a policy might lead?  

Its almost enough to make me advocate leaving the EU.

The other bit of nonsense emanates from an institution much closer to home. An academic at the University of East Anglia, which is only about four miles from here, has put forward the view that watching wildlife and filming animals about their business is immoral and should not be allowed to continue. He even condemns programmes like those made by David Attenborough because he believes them to be "an invasion of the animals privacy".

And this is a professor whose salary is presumably paid by the state which in turn gets the money from taxpayers and who spends his time teaching and influencing young people.

There is something sadly wrong in a society that allows, encourages and indeed pays the salaries of such individuals only for them to put forward ideas like those above that belong in the mad house. Moreover, in times past that's where they would have been put. Isn't it time we stopped being polite about such so called political correctness and identified its perpetrators as potentially dangerous members of society? 

It was a Bank Holiday in France last weekend. (Not everything is co-ordinated across the EU!) The Farmers Weekly Farm Study Tour arrived in Paris from points south on the Sunday and we had all day Monday to explore that elegant city.

OK, we appreciated the architecture, the layout of the boulevards, the feeling that someone had actually sat down and planned the place many years ago rather than simply adding bits on the edges whenever it needed to grow as in so many cities - even London, dare I suggest.

But the highlight for most of us British farmers was what went on in the Champs Elysee all day Sunday and Monday. French Young Farmers (not the same as our YFC but a much more political organisation involving all farmers under the age of 35) had persuaded the Paris authorities to close the magnificent street to traffic from Saturday night until Tuesday morning.

They worked through the night on Saturday to fill that huge space with every kind of farm crop and livestock found in France (and again through Monday night to clear it all up, incidentally). The crops had been planted and pre grown in cut down pallet boxes and lined up together stretched across the street. There was wheat, barley, oats, triticale, lupins, peas, potatoes, sugar beet and so on. And I'm not just talking about individual boxes of each. There were whole plots adding up to perhaps fifty boxes of each crop.

There were forest trees, fruit trees, vines, and every other crop commercially cultivated in the country. Between the crop plots were pens of cattle of all the many French breeds, sheep, goats and pigs, each with a group of young farmers in appropriate matching Tshirts to explain to consumers what they were looking at and to promote French agriculture to French people.

I have seldom seen such and impressive spectacle and was reminded of the exhibitions British farmers mounted in Hyde Park in the 1980's, except that this was in the centre of the city and so different from the eight lanes of traffic that normally inhabit the street.

The budget for the event, I was told, was Euro4.2million, two thirds of which came from sponsors such as machinery manufacturers, fertiliser and chemical firms, banks, breed societies and the other institutions of French farming. The other two thirds was expected to come from the sale of the produce to visitors and from the huge farmers market which formed part of the event.

Whether they made up the difference from the crowd I don't know. But given that the affair attracted an estimated million people on each of the two days I can't think they had too much trouble. Just think of it - two million consumers crowding into a normally busy street in temperatures of over 30degrees C, all keen to learn where their food came from. It was truly magnificent PR.

It left me wondering if we can't do something similar. How about closing The Mall for a Bank Holiday Weekend and mounting a British version of the Champs Elysee extravaganza? They close it for the London Marathon so why not for British agriculture? The Mall is not as wide or as long as the French street so should not cost as much to fill. And surely we could find a few £millions from around our industry to fund it together with a few thousand farmers (and Young Farmer) volunteers to put it together.

Yes, it would be a lot of work but wouldn't it be worth it, especially now we don't have a Royal Show? Anyway, that's my challenge and I very much hope someone takes it up. I have the name of the Paris mastermind if anyone is interested and I gather he's keen to repeat the exercise in other capital cities. So, what are you waiting for?