August 2009 Archives

I really enjoyed Farming Today this morning.  It was a very positive story about a Welsh dairy farmer making gradual but significant improvements to his farming to prevent pollution entering the river that ran through through his farm.

It all made sense when they introduced the local Environment Officer, a chap called Richard Dearing.  He used to work in this area and he was absolutely brilliant.  His skill is that he is passionate and knowledgeable about what he is trying to protect, caring about the livelihoods of the farmers and practical in the suggestions that he makes.  He really helped me to improve the way that we hot water treat our daffodil bulbs.  Our loss is Wales' gain.

Most of the "public servants" and advisers that I have met throughout my working life have been drones, obsessed by their work processes.  And, God knows, I've met hundreds of them.  There are few that have actually helped us to make a real difference and fewer still who I can remember by name. 

Sometimes it seems as though the world and his civil partner have a view about how farming should change so it's heartening to think that they are few decent folk out there who are actually being helpful and constructive. 

Moulton Seas End is the maddest village in England.  Someone has built a speed camera, Blue Peter-style, and put it in their garden.  You can see that it was built with whatever came to hand.  He clearly hadn't got a long enough post.  I think that there's a fairy liquid bottle and some sticky-backed plastic involved. 

Not sure if it is having the desired effect of calming traffc or if people spot it and, realising that they are entering the village from Deliverance, decide to put the meddle to the pedal and get the hell out of there.

Don't you just love a vigilante?  Especially one without a spirit level.

Here you go then.  Two bits of knowledge for you.

1    I clearly spend my Saturday nights sitting at home reading the Economist (oh dear, sighs and stares into middle distance)

2    Isn't there a huge difference between the relative cost of a Big Mac in different countries?  I'm not suggesting that Big Macs are the definitive measure of a civilised nation or anything (I think that they are a pretty poor dining experience myself) but, since they contain wheat, oil, meat, salad and vegetables, they embody modern agriculture in many ways.  The chart demonstrates that without developed agricultuarl systems, people have to work a heck of a lot harder.

Even accounting for devalued currencies and inflated prices for tourists, it's particularly depressing to me to see that a Kenyan has to work over 8 times longer to buy a burger than a Westerner.  I love the Kenyan people (I'll be in Nairobi again next month actually) and it would be good to see a bit more equality than that.  

I'm too depressed (and tired - I'm off to bed in a minute) to analyse it in any more detail than that.  

The really big news from this week is that I have got some new teeth.  Or I've have had my existing front teeth cosmetically enhanced at least.  I've had the appointment booked for months but it finally happened on Tuesday.

I have always had a grimly layed-out set of teeth.  I only needed to open my mouth for people to know that I lived on a marsh in the Fens (maybe that was the accent though.  Or the fact that I talk about potatoes all the time.  Or maybe it was because it was sunny and I was wearing corduroy trousers.  Anyway).  I was galvanised into action when I was filmed on the FW Noos Revoo and I realised that I had a smile like a gypsy who had grown up in a travelling fairground.

When we were children our dentist was a nice guy but a bit of a butcher.  He had a very fruity laugh and my sister called him Mr Sausage Fingers.  I wore a brace which was like a prop from Marathon Man for many of my teenage years, seemingly to little positive effect.  I've had a series of dentists since (they all retire at about 40 before they are properly skilled but by which time they have made more money than Croesus.  Have I spelt Croesus right?  He was the wealthy Greek bloke, right?  Or am I thinking of Theo Paffaeces)  Most of my dentists round here have the opinion "What do you need nice teeth for, you only live in Spalding" 

Luckily I've now finally found a good dentist.  He has given me two new front teeth without a gap between them.  It has instantly taken five years off my age and added 30 to my IQ.  I suspect that my days of biting nails, string and sellotape are over.  I'm probably going to waste hours of what remains of my life hunting for pairs of scissors.

I know that you would like a picture but I'm a bit self concious about it.  Think of a cross between Esther Rantzen and Shergar

I hope that you are not thinking too imaginatively about how such a cross might come about.

I leapt out of bed early this morning so that I could knock out a couple of entries before work.  I've been neglecting you, I am sorry.  Perhaps we need to go to Relate for some counselling, see if we can put the spice back into our relationship.

No doubt my tiredness isn't going to make for a great entry.  I have just poured my second coffee now so I might perk up in a minute.  The coffee is in the Carry on Matron mug today because "Khyber" (my favourite mug of all) is in the dishwasher - not sure if, like Samson, this is where my powers lie (in "Khyber" I mean, not in the dishwasher.  I'm pretty sure that my power isn't in there).

I have a observation to share with you.  I had a boy's night out with some good friends this week.  This has become increasingly rare since we all have more commitments at work and home (a lot of my friends have to juggle running businesses with raising pre-school children: I, meanwhile, have to contend with the equalling- challenging demands of my temperamental water softener).

A get together like this is now done over a good meal rather than a barrel of beer and it was fun to have a proper catch up without the background noise of farm machinery, processing equipment, musical children's toys or the inexplicable gushing of a discharging water softener.  

I don't recall there being more than one or two bank holidays which I haven't needed to work in the last twenty years.  Why are they not arranged a bit more considerately?

I once thought that I would never need to work the August bank holiday again when we stopped growing wheat and sold our combine.  Ha.   

I've been really short of time this week (and also a bit lean on things to tell you to).  As an apology you can have a dog in a bobble hat.

I'm going to put a few photos up of the farm at the weekend and I can tell you what I've been up to. 

I always seem to write these entries on a Sunday at the moment.  It's a bit of a ritual.

So have we got everything?  Pot of Coffee and my "Carry on up the Khyber" mug?  Check.  Croissants, two of?  Check.  Smoothie made of all the remaining fruit from the fridge?  Check (It's a frankly unseasonal pineapple and raspberry today.  And yes, it is too sweet, thanks for asking)  Kitchen table and laptop?  Check.  Radio 3 on at low volume?  Check.  Interesting topic to discuss?  Umm, errr...

THAT, let me tell you, is a bloomin' excellent title.  It really is a return to form.

There are combines rolling all around the area and I feel a bit guilty about not being at work today.  I don't know why; we haven't grown any wheat for a decade.  We planned the flower cropping carefully and managed to get our Monday orders completed yesterday.  Although there is always a job on a farm, we haven't got any pressing tasks to do today and I am tackling a few jobs around the house instead (the new kitchen is almost finished and I have some earth moving to do in the garden).

Since our farming affairs are reasonably in order, I shouldn't feel guilty at all about watching other farmers work.  I could be unneccessarily controversial and say that the self-importance of arable farmers at this time of year is annoying considering that they do sweet naff all for the rest of the year.  I don't want to be controversial - it's Sunday and I'm chillaxing - I won't say that.  The truth is that I feel like a bit of a sissy for not being actively involved in the harvest campaign.

The importance of gathering in the harvest safely is perhaps underestimated by the vast majority of the population but is deeply embedded in the pysche of anyone who grew up on a farm.  We are still playing our part in the war effort.  We have loaned out all of our trailers to neighbours and last night I cooked dinner for my mate Jules.  His wife and children have been evacuated to the coast until hostilities are over and he called in between moving combines from one farm to another. 

Jules is a master of managing logistics (his father is a retired Admiral - the apple falls close to the tree) and he has engaged two contractors to work on his farm simultaneously.  They compete with each other to get the most acres done and last night he had 130 feet of cutting capacity running across his fields.  He is on target to get over 400 acres harvested in 48 hours and all at sub-15% moisture. 

The capacity of modern combines and sophistication of our drying and storage methods mean that nowadays it is usually possible to gather in the crop one way or another - the greater challenge these days is to do so profitably.   

I love an auction.  Although it's a sunny day and there is loads going on around the site, I'm currently sat in the office taking part in a machinery auction online.

This is a reasonably new innovation.  I am used to buying at real-life, "whites of the eyes" auctions where you can kick some tyres, stare at the other bidders and read the mood of the venue.  This is all slightly different.  It is an American website along the lines of ebay which handles sales for liquidators (by which I mean it sells things on behalf of insolvency practioners and not that it sells blenders.  Hang on, I think that they are called liquidisers and not liquidators.  We can forget all that in any case, this isn't a soup making blog.  I hope that you have learned not to read the brackets by now.  They are full of non-sequiteurs.  Think of them as pressure relief valves for my mind)

Right.  Anyway.  There are a few pieces of equipment that I really need and the auction has less than an hour to run.  Seasoned and serious bidders know that you don't show any interest until the bidding is almost over.  Thus I came in, virtual paddle in hand, ready to do business and blow me the site has crashed.

I'm in a right flap,the adrenelin was coursing through my veins by this point.  I have emailed the receivers and they expect that the site will be up and running soon.  They may even extend the deadline.  I bloomin' hope so.  Sometimes the equipment that we need is very difficult to find and you must never miss and opportunity to buy it.

So here I sit, clicking the refresh button every ten seconds.

Stockings didn't know what she had let herself in for with that Monday Mini-Skirt.  Did she not know that she was only encouraging me to sink to new depths?

Here for your delectation/distress is a Thursday Thong. 

Look at the dog owner/perpetrator/abuser behind.  Female, fuller-figure, cartoons on her T-shirt. You hardly need to be a criminal profiler to see that there's a bit of a pattern emerging here

You know that picture of a dog in a miniskirt that Stockings put on Catchat on Monday?

For my riposte you were going to get a picture of a dog in a Tiara on here (what with it being a Tuesday, an' all).  Blow me, old Stockings got in there first by complete coincidence.  The Relfster can enjoy his holiday knowing that his whimsical world is being looked after so well. 

I am not sure that the same can be said about his cats Nutcase and Parsnip, however.  Caroline is cat sitting and she just sent me a picture of their antics last night.

I received what I thought was a very generous offer today. 

A letter arrived which offered me complete peace of mind for 49p per week.

That's got to be the bargain of the century, hasn't it?  That's only about £25 a year, I'd pay more than twice that for complete peace of mind.

I'm one of life's worriers, you see.  I'm always fretting about something; the weather, the economy, third world poverty, food shortages, what will we do when the oil runs out, did I leave a tap running.  I thought this could be the end of my stressin' days - I turned straight to the Direct Debit ready to sign it.

I don't know what came over me (probably a worry about being conned out of 49p per week) but I decided to read the small print first to check that Currys' offer was as generous as it first appeared.

It's a good job I checked.  Would you believe that there were certain things that were excluded?  By certain things, I mean everything in the world EXCEPT my dishwasher breaking down.

How do YOU define COMPLETE PEACE OF MIND.  Probably you are the sort of person who lays awake at night worrying about nothing else apart from how the hell you would cope if your dishwasher broke down.  I'm not one of those people, I couldn't give a hoot about my dishwasher breaking down. 

I have a scouring pad and some Fairy liquid in a little glass-fronted box over the sink like a fire alarm.  "If the worst should happen" (that's what the letter said) I simply need to smash the glass and revert to washing up in manual.  Or I could buy a new dishwasher, at the current interest rate that would only cost about 12p per week.

I dream of the day when the thing that worries me most is a broken down dishwasher.

Stockings is clearly devastated about missing the wooly bridal gown story on Catchat.  She has come back at us with a Monday Mini-Skirt, a rather coquettish-looking poodle in a tiny pleated skirt.

Back atcha, Stockings.  It's a Tuesday Tiara

The BBC are leading most of their news programmes with a headline about food security.  Even though this is a subject which I care about more than most people in this country, it seems disproportionate that they have picked up on this on a day when a million people have been displaced by a tornado in Asia.

Anyway, any excuse to go on about food security is welcome here. 

What we are talking about is what we are likely to be eating in 20 years time.  Defra will no doubt suggest that we should be eating more fresh fruit and vegetables to improve our health.  You can see from the chart below that these are two sectors where we have little self-sufficiency.

Unsuprisingly we produce more cereals than we consume and all of the milk that we need; these are the two sectors which dominate the pages of the Farmers Weekly. 

I'm pretty sure that this points to a need for fruit and nut tree plantings on a massive scale and much more indoor production of soft fruits and salads. 

I'm pleased that the government have woken up to the idea of food security - this may be the dawn of a new kind of British agriculture.  It might also be time to reward the elders of the industry who for years have been trying to make this point to deaf politicians.  Arise Sir David Richardson and Sir Henry Fell

I have only just read the horrific news about the Morakot typhoon in Asia.  It has swept across Taiwan dropping 100 inches of rain in 24 hours and is heading for China,

This entry is to apologise for complaining about the 3 inches that we got on Thursday.

Ever the provincial one, it set me thinking about what I would do if I was forced to evacuate my home at short notice.  I have spent the day sorting out bits and pieces around the house and I realise that I am surrounded by all manner of items with some sentimental attachment.  How would I know what to grab in a crisis?  I clearly own too much.

I am trying to grab the odd moment here and there to reread my AG Street books for a piece that I am writing.  I always enjoy Street's practical wisdom.  In a passage that I read today he explained  in a single sentence that although he had spent his life pursuing material goods his most treasured memories concerned friendship not ownership.

A useful Sunday.

Sorry, I forgot your Wednesday Wig this week.

Here, as recompense, is a Sunday Suit instead.

Stockings, take note.  The mawkish have to be fed.

I couldn't believe that Catchat didn't pick up on this - a lady shepherd (I'm not sure that shepherdess isn't a bit sexist and nursery rhymish these days) getting married in a wooly bridal gown.  She's from Lincolnshire, natch.

This should be a classic Catchat story.  Anyway it transpires that the Whimsical One is off on his hols and Adam Tinyurl and Stockings are filling the void.  Come on, you two, the world of whimsy never sleeps.

Sorry to keep bangin' on about organics; ignore the link if you wish, but Dominic Lawson has developed the theme today in the Times here.  I concur largely with the Lawson family's pro-science, humanist view on life (although Nige's view on climate change is a bit too bold for me).  The article makes the same point that I have tried to about art, culture and ethics also being interventions in nature although his opinion is a bit stronger than mine. 

In fact I'm starting to feel a bit sorry for the organic lobby now.  They are getting a bloody nose over this. 

Although I have always doubted the viability of the "organic dream", I've always praised organic farmers for offering an alternative, satisfying a niche and (most importantly) charging a premium in the food sector.  I have written many times that progressive organic farmers are very important for developing new, non-chemical practices and the higher prices they charge pay for this experimentation.  

The Soil Association has had the sort of battering that the Tories got in the 1997 election (and, in my opinion, as well-deserved).  They still have a role to play in providing a balance, they just need to sit down in a quiet room with a mug of organic, herbal tea and reconsider their vision. 

On Thursday, as I was rollin' my meatballs for dinner and staring forlornly out off the kitchen windows at the cloud burst, I suggested we might get 40mm of rain.  WE GOT 60.  We bloomin' got 60 millimetres (that's nearly 3 inches if you need it translatin', Nan).

Our crops escaped quite lightly considering.  The flowers in the field were drenched but still upright.  We were due to apply a blight spray to the potatoes yesterday but it was too wet to drive the sprayer through them. 

Wet days are very frustrating for farmers.  It takes twice as long to do jobs half as well.  The worst days are when the showers stop and start and you can't decide if you should carry on or give up.  A downpour of more than an inch of rain is pleasingly conclusive in that respect.  You know that it's a day of paperwork or tidying the workshop.

We had a dry and hot day yesterday and it's glorious now - we should be able to start where we left off by tomorrow.  We have got a very busy week ahead of us with flower cropping and planting so we decided not to work today.  I'm sitting outside having my breakfast at the moment and typing this on the laptop.  I'm a man of simple pleasures; there is nothing makes me feel more content than a slow start to a Sunday reading the paper (online today) with a good cup of filter coffee from my "Carry on up the Khyber" mug (I've got a whole set of Carry On mugs but "Khyber" is definitely my favourite).

It's bloomin' rainin'.

I am sitting in the kitchen watching the rain bouncing off the top of the little metal table and chairs in the garden.  I bought them with a view to sitting outside on a Sunday morning drinking the papers and reading a pot of coffee pretending to be a European ("You are a European, Matthew"  Oh yeh, so I am). 

No such luck yet on the al fresco breakfast dream; the table have chairs have been wet (either with rain or dew) ever since I put them out there a month ago.

It looks as though we have had much more than 1" of rain already, I wouldn't be suprised if we have had over 40mm before the morning (see how I glide seemlessly between imperial and metric measurements)

There's no greater annoyance when you are a farmer than rainfall when you are in the middle of a job which requires fine weather.  My heart is with anyone who has combining to do - it could be a nightmare this year.  We are about to start supplying flowers to supermarkets again and wet weather may present a bit of a headache to us.  Luckily we have harvested and cold stored enough today to satisfy our orders but I'm praying for a dry day before Sunday. 

We have tried really hard to create wildlife habitats around the farm which entice wildlife while satisfying the requirements of LEAF Marque and the respective environmental stewardship schemes.  On our farm these areas are mostly field corners, hedge and ditch margins and buffer strips.

Some of these patches we allowed to regenerate naturally while others we drilled with a fescue mix.  The deep alluvial silts that we farm are different to other parts of the country - weeds love this soil.  With so many vegetable crops in our rotation, we have naturally high fertility.  The areas that we allowed to regenerate were soon a shocking mass of perennial weeds like thistles and docks.  I accept that dock seeds are a delicacy for partridges (on some parts of the farm we have more partridges than pheasants now, some of whom are the English, grey ones) but perennial weeds are the hallmark of a neglected farm and I feel ashamed to see them.  I am particularly embarrassed about the bits of ragwort.  If we started hand-weeding we would bankrupt in three years.

We have been going over all the margins with a topper for a couple of years now once the nesting season is over (and after the weeds have dropped their seeds, sadly) and slowly the perennial grasses are dominating the weeds.  The thistles are not so easily managed, though.  We have just bought a small sprayer for the quad bike so that we can spot treat the patches.  This seems to be best practice.  Ideally I would prefer not to spray them at all but the alternative is to spray the entire field after the seeds have blown all over it.

In the photo, on some land which we started farming in 2006, is a relatively new habitat corridor on the right.  We have cultivated the area next to it to stop the weeds encroaching on the productive part of the field.  As you can see the actual area taken out of production is much greater than any survey accounts for. 

On fertile land trying to marry productivity AND bio-diversity is harder than most people realise because few farmers admit to the difficulty.  The line between natural and neglect is a thin one.   

We have just about emptied the warehouse of daffodil bulbs

We have started harvesting Delphiniums again

And Chris' new truck has arrived.  It's bloomin massive.  I'm calling it the Hummer, I daren't drive it.

My new kitchen is nearly finished, just a few bits of tiling and some stuff to finish off in the pantry.

I did my first bit of cooking in it yesterday which was tres exciting.  I was quite creative and managed to only use bits and pieces from the fridge and larder.  You will note from the photos that A: I have found the cable to connect my camera to my laptop again and B: My presentation skills can't hold a candle to those of the mouth-waterin' Miss P

Cherry Pie

Check out the Jackson Pollock chocolate work on my Bakewell Tart then.

Let me know if you need recipes or anything.  I'm thinking about starting the "Cooking Farmer" brand which is a pleasingly Spooneristic name.

Ploughing rules, it's the king of jobs on the farm.  I love it (well for the first three hours anyway.  Then I get a bit bored)

On Saturday I managed to finish the two fields that I started on Friday. 

As you can see, our plough is quite small by modern standards and only has 5 furrows.  It's still quite long and you have to be careful when turning into gateways from the road because the back of the plough swings outwards when you turn.

This is a problem if the car behind you is following very close.  It shows you which drivers were paying attention in their physics lessons when the subject of fulcrums was being chalked on the blackboard.  So, drivers, listen up.  If the implement on a tractor has wheels then it will follow the rear wheels of the tractor.  If the implement is mounted on the tractor and carried off the ground then it will swing out into the road so don't get too close.

I had a little Vauxhall driving inches from the back of my plough on Saturday.  I had to slam on the brakes as I turned on Saturday to avoid batting the tiny car into Yorkshire (think Jurassic Park when the Humungersaurus flicks the little dinosaurs away with its tail). 

More photos below 

Me:   He used to be a professional footballer, you know.

You:  Who did?  What the hell are you on about?

Oh the irony.  Just a day after the Dreadful Mail published that opinion piece about organics, today they have an article written by Rosie Boycott about the collapse of her small farming business with a loss of £200 000.  Now don't go thinking that I buy the Mail, will you - I read it in the barber's this morning.

I quite like Rosie Boycott (I thought that she was a good editor of the Daily Express before it ceased to be a newspaper) but it doesn't matter which tape measure you use she is clearly not a great farmer and businesswoman .

The failure of her business, though sad in some ways, was despite the hundreds of thousands of pounds of free publicity that she got from the media.  She became one of the official spokespeople for the "new food movement" and was forever popping up somewhere saying how great her carrots tasted. 

I'm all for people growing their own food but the Rosie Boycott/Jamie Oliver/Alex James/Liz Hurley gang subsidise their production with cash that came too easily to them and they get a disproportionate amount of media attention for their endeavours. 

They are deluding themselves and patronising the majority of the population by suggesting that they have found the alternative to supermarkets.  They have fed the "anti-science" culture much better than they have fed the population and, although their objectives are well-intentioned, I can't help feeling slightly relieved when their naivety is exposed.

You know how you can use a million words dancing around a subject and still never get your point across as well as you would like to(I do, I've made a blogging career out it for goodness sake).  Well anyway, the reliably excellent Ben Goldacre has summed up my position about the organic debate wonderfully well here.

It's in the Guardian, believe it or not.  Sadly fewer people will read it than read the (excuse this, I am about to use a non-sexual swear word because I am so uncontrollably furious) utter shit written here by Joanna Blythman.  The woman is an idiot, put her in the corner with a dunce's hat on her empty head.

Hey, why don't you go and lay in a hammock and read Bad Science by Ben Goldacre this weekend?  It's great.  What did you say?  You've got Harvesting to do.  You've not got time to be laying in hammocks?  OK fair enough, get to it then.