January 2008 Archives

Finland

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I have finally bought the plane tickets for our Worshipful Company of Farmers Year Group Reunion in Finland in February.

There are a couple of reasons why I was very late booking this. 1. I am uncomfortable with the environmental impact of flying, 2. I am away as soon as I get back for a course at the Royal in Cirencester.

The good thing about going is that it means that I miss Valentine's Day. It's usually a gruelling affair; it normally takes me a good week to open all the post that I get. This year Royal Mail have asked if I can lay on a forklift for unloading it all. I might try mechansing the job by tipping the cards into a receiving hopper and running them down one of the production lines to get them opened more quickly this year. I have warned the chap who takes all our waste paper to clear some warehouse space for all the envelopes.

Anyway. Finland should be good fun: Albert, who is hosting it this year, has got a superb herb business. It's been a while since our last reunion with Charlie and Andrew in Scotland. Tim and I are hoping to do a bit of recording for the podcast while we are there so you should be able to have a listen. They are a great group of people to spend time with and it is unlikely we will be flying again for a reunion for at least a decade.

Dithering around on booking the flight meant that it cost me an extra £100 pounds. Morally, I wouldn't have felt happy flying there for a penny or whatever meagre sum it originally cost. This said, I'm not that happy about an airline being super profitable either - hopefully they will invest in green transport.

It all makes a mockery of my attempt to be green in other areas of my life and I feel like a hypocrite.

Right. We have gadgets in all the cars now so that you can talk safely on the phone while you are driving.

The one in my old car, a bluetongue thingybob, was a button on the dashboard made by the same people who made my telephone. Back in the good old days of owning that vehicle, if my phone started ringing when it was in my pocket, or more likely sliding around in a footwell or under a seat (next to those knife blades that car manufacturers like to weld under there to make in easy and safe to retrieve items), I could simply press the button on the dashboard to answer it.

This was fine. I can work buttons. I don't need an instruction manual for a button.

When Alex, our phone guy, came to fit the gadget in my new car this week, I asked for another one of these buttons. He said he had something better and, being a loving of complicated new technology, I was persuaded to try one.

What I have got, to my horror, is a giant multi-coloured plasma screen called a parrot. It has got a photo of the Rocky Mountains on the screen. Unlike the old system (basically press it or don't press it) this one comes with choices. I have got to learn how to answer the phone again.

I tried pressing buttons and an American lady started reading out letters of the alphabet. I eventually managed to phone Alex to tell him that he had fitted a child's Speak and Spell in my car by mistake. He said that the instruction manual was good and well worth a read. There were pages of the stuff. "Great," I thought sarcastically, "I'll send everyone home, crack open a bottle of Chablis and get stuck into it."

I don't want to read this crap. I haven't read the Great Gatsby yet, I'm certain I'm not going to read a book telling me how to work something that is just a glorified button.

Oh and because it's all linked into the radio my ipod docking thingy isn't working now.

So now I've got to ride around the fens at night with a glowing picture of the Rockies dominating the car.

If I ring you by accident at some point do not be suprised. Ditto if I drive under a van.

Progress. Hah. That's right. Hah. I bloody hate technology.

My old car continues to annoy me even after it has been sold. I priced it fairly and described it honestly and consequently was overwhelmed by the response to the advert. It sold for the asking price in two days and I received over twenty calls in the 48 hours after it first went on the autotrader website.

I only needed one buyer and so I have been kicking myself that I advertised it too cheaply. Either that or it had achieved cult stardom from its many appearances on this blog and everyone wanted to own the "famous" Matthewnaylormobile. Maybe it is in a museum next to Rodney Trotter's van or perhaps it ended up sold to a clown at a massively inflated price.

Autotrader have decided to advertise the car in the magazine again this week for good measure despite me asking them not to and so I have received another ten calls today.

If I am honest I had been exaggerating the problems with the car for comic effect - it wasn't too bad. I have been living in fear of the buyer reading this blog and thinking that he has been stitched up. At least having a queue of people waiting to buy it meant that I could be honest about the problems and I reckon he still got a good deal.

This is one of the problems of writing this blog that I hadn't considered. I'm sitting in the office on a Saturday afternoon jotting this down to fill the time while my ipod syncronises. sometimes I forget that anyone else reads it and can get myself into all sorts of trouble.

Oh, and the car sold so quickly that I didn't have time to remove my blue tongue, car phone, kit thingamajig.

I have been unable to sleep for days now. Yesterday I got up at 4.00am to take my parents to the airport. I was very tired by 10.30pm (Me and Chris spent most of the day sorting and splitting a new collection of 100 or so different new flower varieties).

Still I couldn't sleep last night. You might remember an earlier entry where my mate Julian suggested that it was a Russian thing. Maybe the Cold War has started again over that poisoned spy or something.

Unlike the last time I commented on this, no one else is suffering from insomnia - it's only me. The Russian soundwaves are therefore being uniquely targeted at Windsor House and nowhere else. Always one for a conspiracy theory, I suspected that they had heard that I was giving the Shuttleworth Lecture this week. They probably thought that they could disrupt the UK's food supply by making me too tired to deliver my inspirational words to Britain's farmers on Wednesday. How wrong they were; it was just a few jokes about dairy farmers.

Anyway. My point was that I then (at some point after 3.00am) had a couple of short bursts of sleep in which I had two vivid dreams. One involved me feeling very embarrassed about driving a very elaborate Porsche sports car through a narrow roadway and knocking over a lawyer's desk (much to the universal annoyance of the lawyers and bystanders, of whom there were many - the make of car seemed to have particularly inflamed the situation).

The other dream was a sort of thriller. There were a lot of hidden antiques hidden in an exquisitely-decorated two storey loft. Oh and I was being pursued by the triads. They were rather annoyed with me too over some other misunderstanding (separate, additional and unrelated to the Porsche/desk situation). There was quite a structured plot to the whole thing and, violent triads aside, I can remember that I was enjoying the reveal of each twist and turn. I also remember that a young girl made a genuinely witty remark, although I can't remember it now.

With such a small amount of sleep and my brain then involuntarily pouring all it's creative energy into these absurd dream sequences (please don't tell me they are premonitions), is it any wonder that my work and the quality of these blog entries is suffering?

Roger Shortfield made a good comment on my earlier entry about Tyrells. He suggested that businesses like Tyrells would be a good investment for other farmers. It's a very relevant point. I have been a little cynical about grower co-operatives in the past but that there is a lot of sense in farmer controlled businesses. If you are a sugar beet grower you can read the history of British Sugar here and reflect on how different the industry could have been if we had stepped in to buy it.

He also made the correct observation that I had misspelt the word "principle" no less than three times. I therefore need to point out that when I said that "my principals don't work in practice" I was not referring to my Dad.

As you can tell from the "minimalist" format of this blog, I am using the equivalent of a Fiesta Popular Plus to write these entries ("ahem, Matthew, they haven't made the Fiesta Popular Plus for twenty years." Oh, haven't they. Am I that old?). Obviously, as you will know from my atrocious spelling in the past, it isn't fitted with any optional extras like smellcheck.

As a special thank you for Roger's polite correction, I amended the spelling on the entry and deleted the fact that he had commented on it. What a filthy rotter I am.

I gave a talk in Bedfordshire last night. I was getting a bit flustered beforehand. I had planned to lock myself in the office for most of yesterday to prepare what I going to say. The day then turned into a stream of interuptions. The phone rang constantly and one person after another kept banging on the door to ask me something.

I kept losing my thread and the more annoyed I became, the more that the speech turned into a rant. I was an hour later leaving work than I needed to be so by the time that I arrived home to change I was so flustered that I had a face like a beetroot. In fact I was so hot that I wondered if I was menopausal.

Doctor Matthew self-prescribed two pints of cold water for this condition and downed the remedy without thinking of the consequences. It only later dawned on me that this was hardly the best preparation for an hour and a half drive and an hour on a lecture platform.

Anyway. Chronic bladder pain aside, the speech went fairly well. I met some really interesting people afterwards and it was another useful bit of public speaking practice. I could have done without a late night because I have to be up at 4.00am in the morning. Expect me to be tired and irritable in my next entry.

I thought it was time for a bit of a farm round up.

I can't believe how warm it is at the moment. I have been wandering about the yard without a coat on. If we don't get a frost, the daffodils will be ready to crop earlier than ever before.

I've had the busiest few weeks since Christmas...

On a plate

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When you visit most food or flower businesses nowadays, you have to sign into a visitor's book with your name and number plate and suchlike. We even have a visitor's book here which is a nod to one of our customer's protocols.

Anyway. I signed into a factory I was visiting on Friday and I didn't have a blinking clue what my number plate was. NOT. A. CLUE.

I've not had the car that long, I admit, but it had never occured to me to look what the number plate was. I didn't realise I was going to be exposed to one of these memory tests. The main reason that I didn't know, and it's embarrasing, is that since the age of 18 I have always had a personalised numberplate on my car. It gets worse than that, and please don't hate me, I've had three different ones since then. It's a bit of a thing that farmers do in Lincolnshire.

Making a packet

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Interesting to see that Will Chase from Tyrells may be "cashing in his chips" (oh, do you see what I did there. I'm like Gyles Brandreth) and selling his crisp business. Article here.

Tyrells is one of the British farming businesses that I most admire. A great quality product which is marketed well at a premium price. Will (there is a good article here about him) took quite a big gamble to execute his vision but doing it properly has given him a fantastic business.

I think that I've got the answer on this whole chicken thing. Obviously if you want less animal cruelty then you need to eat less animals. So Isuggest that we only eat really massive animals from now on.

Think how long a whale would last if you had one butchered and stuck in in the freezer. You would have to kill thousands of chickens to get that much meat.

I made this argument a few years ago in the article below. It's good to see that Hugh and Jamie have finally caught up with me. Another slice of giraffe neck, anyone?



I was sitting next to someone at a dinner party a few weeks ago who explained to me, "I'm a vegetarian; I only eat fish". It is some time since I was in the education system, but I am pretty certain that fish wasn’t a vegetable back then.

There are an increasing number of “vegetarians” that eat fish in the vain belief that it is somehow more merciful. Thinking logically, if you want less cruelty to animals then you should be eating very large animals and fewer of them. Schools of thought, and indeed schools of cod, would tell you that eating a part of a cow is more humane than eating a whole fish.

A sausage is the smallest percentage of a pig and so you will only taste a tiny proportion of that pig’s disappointment with the way of the world. A tin of sardines, however, could contain up to half a dozen separate unhappy endings. Just consider the numerous atrocities you are ordering when you ask for a bowl of whitebait.

This is only one of the baffling inconsistencies that the modern food producer has to ponder. My favourite statistic of the week is that in the last 10 years, RSPB membership has increased at roughly the same rate as the consumption of chicken meat. It would be unfair and perhaps untrue to suggest that it is the RSPB members that are tucking into all the extra chickens and then filling out their subscriptions because of guilt and self-loathing.

The RSPB is significant body to farmers. It shares many of our aims and it is also a very powerful lobbying organisation. With ten times more members than the National Farmers Union, the RSPB’s impact on government policy is ten times weightier. When they raise a point, it generally gets a fair hearing.

I was therefore shocked to hear Graham Wynne, the RSPB's chief executive, recently say that there was no case for protecting food production in the UK. He said that market forces dictate that food should come from the cheapest supplier, wherever they are in the world.

The farmer in me is disappointed by this remark. The environmentalist in me is stunned. The consumer in me wonders if food from the other side of the world can taste as good as the food from down the road. My basic grasp of economics tells me that importing some food is good for our balance of payments and offers support to under-developed countries. It also tells me that if Mr Wynne’s statement is true, then market forces would have to apply to the birds as well. Would they be prepared to fly off to Hungary to find the cheapest food? They would have to avoid the turbines of the jets bringing in food in the opposite direction but would at least generate less carbon.

The government is pursuing a policy of discouraging food production and instead paying for environmental “benefits” through the Single Farm Payment. I cannot see where this is necessary, helpful or sustainable. Unless species are seriously threatened, there is no good reason to involve the taxpayer. The government is creating a situation which reduces our environment and fellow species to tradeable commodities. This subjects them to the laws of the market place. Why would a government pay British Farmers to produce lapwings that it could have produced more cheaply abroad?

We have a falling level of food self-sufficiency in the UK. It is now at 65%. When currency changes mean that we need to increase UK food production, we will be unable to train people or create infrastructure in time. We should learn to value home-produced food and support it with our custom. The careful maintenance of our environment and the habitats within it can come as a no cost by-product of intelligent and profitable food production. Eating a small piece of a UK-reared cow is a practical and humane contribution to the welfare of the British countryside.

A new Toyota

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We have three Caterpillar industrial forklifts at our main yard. I'm always suprised by how many hours they do a year, anywhere between 1000 and 2200 hours each.

When I started here we only had one old forklift and it used to do about 200 hours a year. Now three can't cope some days and we find ourselves in need of a fourth one. By my rough calculations this means that we are handling 200 times more produce than we were. Either that or we are moving the same amount 200 times further.

I don't need a calculator to work out that our turnover is not 200 times greater than it was so there is something odd going on.

Anyway. This week we are trying the new Toyota Tonero forklift. She's a colourful little thing. And since the colour scheme on this blog is as drab as the Lincolnshire skyline, I have taken a photo of the Toyota to brighten up the page. (I'm sad like that)

I'll give you a full road test next week if I remember.

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Nice to see a passionate response to my entry about chickens.

I restate my position to those who responded. I buy high welfare chickens because I prefer them. However if someone is prepared to produce cheap chicken (providing it's within the rules of the law and the supermarkets protocol) and there is a market demand for it, then I have no objection to the matter.

This is the beauty of living in a democracy (although admittedly one that hasn't give chickens the right to vote......yet anyway)

I seem to have published my identity crisis entry twice. I have always suspected that I am bi polar

Identity Crisis

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Dinner party last night. As we ate our desert, the girl next to me said,

"I've finally decided who you remind me of."

Guess who she said then?

Daniel Craig, Colin Farrell, Johnny Wilkinson... all good guesses but no.

Identity Crisis

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Dinner party last night. As we ate our desert, the girl next to me said,

"I've finally decided who you remind me of."

Guess who she said then?

Daniel Craig, Colin Farrell, Johnny Wilkinson... all good guesses but no.

Farewell

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A fond farewell to two heroes of mine. Sir John Harvey-Jones and Sir Edmund Hillary. The obituaries are well worth a read because they mark lives well lived.

I was a big fan of the Troubleshooter programme when I was younger. (I'm sure I've told you about my "Tory boy" youth).

Also I once went to a fancy dress party dressed as Edmund Hillary. It was a New Zealand themed "Maoris and All Blacks" party. I don't own a grass skirt or a rugby shirt (and I was unlikely to get a second wear out of either if I bought one especially) so I was very literal and went dressed all in black. Which resulted in the following, amusing, conversation at the party.

Girl (dressed as Gandalf): "Who the hell are you meant to be, Johnny Cash?"

Me: " No, I'm meant to be Sir Edmund Hillary of course, you ignorant wizard." Sir Edmund being the only famous Kiwi that I could think of at short notice. (Apart from Dame Kiri Te Kanawa, and I am too thin to pass for her.)

Girl (still dressed as Gandalf): "Sir Edmund Hillary?"

Me: "Correct"

Girl (still dressed as Gandalf): "Does Sir Edmund Hilary wear a Marks and Spencer tank top, then?"

Log Burning

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I appreciate that I am straying dangerously close to Mopsa territory here. Today I am talking about logs. My parents and I both installed wood burning stoves in our homes just before Christmas. Most of the conversations that I have with my Dad are about logs these days. If you think this is untrendy and a subject about which you give not a fig, and I respect your viewpoint, then what are you waiting for - you have a whole internet at your fingertips. But please come back tomorrow when I will most likely be slagging Hugh Firmly-Whitteringchops.

Chicken Run

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Did you see Hugh Floppy-Whittingwhateverhisnameis last night with his programme about chicken production?

If there were no free range chickens available in supermarkets then there would have been more point to this programme. As it happens virtually everywhere offers the choice of free range chicken but still people choose the cheap bird over the free range option. I would have thought that it was pretty bloody obvious to anyone that...

Here is something to give us a bit of hope for a cooler future.

Yesterday was a rubbish day then. Without question the worst day of the whole year.

It fairness the year so far had been excellent in nearly every respect. I had tempted fate by emotionally telling my parents on Sunday how lucky we all were in our family and that we should tell ourselves this every day.

As it turned out it was the Inland Revenue who told us how lucky we are

Shouldn't this story give you a bit of optimism to start the New Year.

It hasn't had the desired effect on me. The way that things are going this morning I am tempted to join the old boy.

We are suffering from terrible gales at the moment which have already badly damaged the roof on the half-finished new workshop. The news is just as bad here inside the office as well, a few of my plans are satrting to go seriously wrong.

2008 is underway.

OFC...O.M.G.

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Well. I survived Oxford Farming Conference, in fact it turned out to be a huge amount of fun.

This year was even better because I was helping to put together a podcast for the event with Clare, Tim and Ian. I say helping. Tim and Clare were doing most of the hard work. They were in charge of the recorders. Ian and I, since we were also speaking, were in charge of flouncing around wearing scarves. This helped us to create a proper "media" atmosphere.

Recording the podcast gave us a bit of an insight behind the scenes . We should be able to get all this edited together and onto the ofc website in about a week.

You can find the proper reporting of the conference elsewhere on the website. The best bits for me are the friendships that get formed at the conference. The younger delegates are normally hilarious and the older ones are fascinating. Listen out on the podcast for the bits recorded in The Bear.

New Year

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HNY. Back at my desk after a few days in Oxford. I have started to tackle the large stack of paper in my "IN" pile (there's too much to fit in a tray). This is all the mail which doesn't contain a cheque or an invoice. The first thing that I did was measure the pile. It was 208mm tall which makes it rather unstable. It is on the edge of the desk so hopefully some of it will slump into the dustbin without me noticing. I'm hoping that there is a death threat in there somewhere to liven things up.

It's a New Year with a lot to do so I'm going to need to be organised. I saw the New Year in there with friends and then went on to Oxford Farming Conference.

Ooo, I nearly forgot and this is quite interesting for you. We had a little gang for dinner on New Years Eve in a nice little pubby/restauranty place.

Guess who walked in just before midnight?

Only bloomin' Britt Ekland.........holding a chihuahua........followed by the former (and rubbish) Doctor Who, Sylvester McCoy.

This truly is your one stop shop for celebrity and entertainment news, is it not?

Here's Britt

175024~Britt-Ekland-Posters.jpg

Look, I don't want to be bitchy here, but she may have had "work done" since the photo was taken. Sylvester, on the other hand, looked very much as nature intended him to.