All those late nights researching topics of national interest for this piece have finally paid off. It would appear that I have become somewhat of a farming babe magnet.
It started at a recent chemical supplier’s open day. After the obligatory wheat trials, oilseed rape trials and precision farming chat, it was time for a pork roll and a catch up with everyone. Then, one of the hosts of the day came up and gave me a welcome kiss, I am not sure if the second one was really on offer, but you have to make hay while the sun shines.
Then across the crowded workshop I could feel the gaze of a fan. Not the hairy Welshman from LAMMA who wanted to introduce himself in the toilets, but an attractive blonde oilseed rape breeder. I just hope in my quest to impress, I did not do something silly like order a shed full of seed.
One of the great anomalies of machinery maintenance has to be the dealer winter service. At the end of last season the combine was flying along in a haze of bean dust singing like a sewing machine. Yet eight months later, the service report looks like it had swam the channel and trekked through the Amazon in aid of Sport Relief.
My combine driver had suggested previously that as the most vital component of the machine was broken – the radio – might he have a new one; combine that is, not radio. I explained that he would have to wait a few years yet and to not worry about the lack of love songs, as this allows you to listen for bits dropping off.
I might just have to stretch to a comprehensive overhaul. After all, I might need to upgrade my truck to match my new playboy status!